Wormhole Junction
by ibwolf
Summary: Farscape's John Crichton gets shot through another wormhole only to find himself on the USS Enterprise. Things start to heat up when Stargate's SG-1 unexpectedly show up. Reviews appreciated. Finished.
1. Wrong turn

**Wormhole Junction**

by _ibwolf_

**Spoilers:** (generously estimated)

Farscape - some spoilers for season 1 - 3.  
Star Trek - some spoilers for TNG in general.  
Stargate SG-1 - some spoilers for seasons 1 - 6.

**Chapter 1: Wrong turn**

John Crichton, an astronaut, was having one of those days. In fact, it was more like one of those years, and this was the second one in a row. First, he had been shot through a wormhole, then he had been shot at by - it seemed - almost everyone he encountered. And those who didn't shot at him, usually settled for more intimate assaults.

Somehow, he had wound up on a ship, a living ship, full of escaped prisoners. People he was now beginning to call friends. And people he was probably never going to see again. Not even Aeryn.

"Is it supposed to shake this much?" Chiana's voice cut through the noise that several warning lights and a whole lot of shaking created in the cramped module. Farscape 1 had never been designed for wormhole travel. It had in fact never been meant for anything more than a single test flight. Now it was carrying him and Chiana on its second wormhole transit. Crichton briefly wondered exactly where he would wind up this time. He did have to admit that he was partly to blame this time around. He had become obsessed with wormholes, with finding a way home.

In retrospect it seemed obvious; be careful what you wish for.

"This is only my second ride, remember," he answered quickly, raising his voice to be heard over the din. The truth was that this was a lot worse than the original transit. He was beginning to worry that the module would break up before they exited the wormhole. He should have left Chiana behind, he absently thought to himself. She and Dargo had had a fight and John had brought her along to get a little distance between them. Give the rest of the crew a small break. He shouldn't have put her in this danger.

Suddenly, up ahead, he saw the wormhole's terminus coming.

"I think this is it," he shouted, but even as he did so, something else registered. It didn't matter anymore. The module was a goner; it wouldn't last more than a minute...

---

Chief petty officer Miles Edward O'Brien was bored. Pretty much bored out of his skull. He had been on duty in transporter room one for three hours and nothing had happened. No malfunctions, no crisis, no scheduled maintenance. He had run a few diagnostics just to kill time but that had only occupied him for a few minutes.

Right now he was observing sensor data coming from ops. Not that there was much to see but it beat doing nothing, just barely.

Then an anomaly showed up. O'Brien had to refrain from giving an exasperated sigh. Despite over 200 years of interstellar travel and research, entirely too many things showed up simply as 'anomalies' on scanners. He'd only been on the Enterprise for three years and they had already run into more than their fair share of them.

The energy signature of the anomaly suddenly spiked and resolved itself into something that the sensors tentatively identified as a wormhole. This identification was supported by the fact that a small vessel seemed to be emerging from it. Directing his attention to the vessel O'Brien realized that it was about to break up. He instinctively locked the transporters on the two life signs aboard. Just as he was ready to initiate transport the expected order came from the bridge. "Chief," Commander Riker began.

"I'm on it, sir," O'Brien forestalled his superior; there was no time to waste. He powered up the transporters even as his scanners reported that the vessel's hull integrity had collapsed. During the short transport he checked out the readings on the two passengers. One was definitely a human male, although he did have a curious infection near his brain stem. The computer did not classify it as contagious nor harmful so he left it. The man was armed however. O'Brien prudently had the transporter disable the weapon.

The other passenger was not human, but appeared to be humanoid and probably female. She also had the same infection but again the medical diagnostic insisted that it was neither contagious nor harmful. Better safe than sorry he thought and activated a containment field around the transporter pads before the duo could materialize.

O'Brien did his best but since they had been seated in a reclined position upon transport they were in for a bit of a bump as they materialized sans any support. The human was indeed a male. Maybe a bit above average height, dark hair. He was dressed in leather with his weapon holstered at his hip. He very quickly sprang to his feet, drawing his weapon so smoothly that to O'Brien it seemed almost to materialize in his hand as he stood up.

"You're safe," O'Brien said, hoping that someone from the Bridge would get here quickly. "We beamed you off your shuttle just before it lost hull integrity." O'Brien considered for a moment, and then added "and I disabled that," O'Brien motioned to the gun pointed his way, "during the transport."

"You disabled Wynona?" The stranger seemed quite upset with that. He took two steps forward, towards O'Brien and was repelled by the force field.

"You named your gun?" The female spoke as she rose gracefully. "He named his gun," this was directed at O'Brien drawing his attention to her. She is a sight, he thought. Slim, athletic really, bluish grey skin and hair. Her clothing quite revealing. She cocked her head to one side as she looked straight at O'Brien. He felt sure that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

The human managed to compose himself after the shock from the force field. "This all looks very familiar," he said. His eyes locked on O'Brien. "You're Miles O'Brien."

O'Brien had never seen the man before, of that he was sure. However, he supposed that anyone who wanted to could find out the names of everyone serving on the Enterprise. "That's right, how do you know my name?" O'Brien asked more as a formality then out of surprise.

Just then Commander Riker and Lieutenant Worf entered the transporter room. The sight of them seemed to affect the human. "Commander Riker and," the human laughed, "Worf."

"That's right," Riker answered, "may I ask your name and how you know ours?"

The human seemed to be becoming slightly hysterical. "How I know your name?" He asked incredulously. Pulling himself together a bit, he then introduced himself. "My name is John Crichton, an astronaut. My friend here is Chiana. And the reason I know all your names is because I've seen all of you on TV."

---

"No John, this is not an illusion." The neural clone of Scorpious, that John had begun to think of as Harvey, seemed quite anxious. That might be an act but given the power it had at times demonstrated over him it was unlikely that it was lying. It had only two functions, dig the wormhole tech that the Ancients had buried in his mind out and, when the time was right, steer John back into the hands of Scorpious himself.

John looked around the sickbay of the USS Enterprise. Dr. Beverly Crusher had finished examining him and was now working on Chiana. Worf and a couple of nameless security guards were on hand to keep an eye on the unexpected visitors. So far everything looked almost exactly like what John remembered of the TV series. Maybe a bit more 'real'. But this couldn't be real, could it?

"I know that the Scarran device also felt very real to you but there should be no way of fooling me." To John's mind Harvey seemed to be walking about the room, examining it. John knew that THAT at least was an illusion but he still had to force himself not to track Harvey's movements. These people already thought he was mad enough.

"So I just happened to make a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up on a frelling TV show?" John retorted. He didn't speak aloud. The clone could hear his thoughts well enough.

"That wormhole behaved very differently from what you remember of your first trip." Suddenly John was back in Farscape 1. Harvey was in the back seat. The memory of his first trip through a wormhole in the tiny module was replaying. "See John."

"So what? We are in some alternate reality?" John exclaimed. He hated when Harvey usurped his consciousness this way.

"I've been able to access most of the information that the Ancients gave you, but I don't have the capacity to understand it. The real Scorpious would be able to do it." Harvey paused for a moment. "And you could do it."

They were now in a classroom that John remembered from sixth grade. John was sitting in one of the uncomfortable student chairs and Harvey, dressed in a stereotypical teacher's outfit right down to the tweed jacket with leather elbow patches stood in front of the blackboard. The blackboard was filled with weird formulas.

"So you want to give the wormhole knowledge to me?"

"Yes John. Stuck here there is no way I can communicate my findings back to Scorpious?"

"No, you just want me to stop fighting you so you can gain full access to it."

"John, be sensible, I've already accessed most of it, the rest is only a matter of time."

"I won't just hand it all over to you and Scorpious!"

"You don't have a choice, John. Doing this may risk exposing all the wormhole knowledge to me, but if you don't..."

"If what?" John demanded.

"If you don't, then neither of us is gets what he wants. You don't get to go back to Moya, you never see Aeryn again. And I," Harvey, whose anger had been mounting brought himself back under control. "And I'll be stuck in your head forever."

It made sense. John had come to realize that the neural clone was driven to complete its assigned task. It was unhappy about where it was. Only by completing its task could its existence be ended.

In a strange twist of fate, they now both wanted the same thing. To get back to Moya.

"Alright, do it."

---

Dr. Crusher was just finishing her examination of the alien female when Captain Jean-Luc Picard came into sickbay. Beverly greeted him.

"Your findings doctor?" Picard asked crisply.

"The infection that Miles detected is indeed non contagious. It's a symbiotic bacteria of some sort. They claim it works kind of like a universal translator. It lets them understand anything that has evolved along similar lines."

"Is that possible?"

"In theory, yes. It appears to be telepathic and we know that telepathy can usually cross species lines."

"Do it." The sound came from the human they had rescued.

"Do what?" Picard inquired. This seemed to shake the human from some sort of reverie.

"Huh, what? Oh, nothing, just thinking." The human pulled himself together before continuing, "Captain Picard, I'm John Crichton." He held his hand out in greeting.

Picard shook hands with Crichton firmly. "You know my name also. My first officer tells me you think that this is all some sort of archaic entertainment program?" Picard tried to keep his voice neutral, the eternal diplomat. It was hard not to let a little disbelieve show.

"I know it sounds crazy but with all I've seen in the past two years I'm willing to buy this."

"Buy what exactly?"

"That I've somehow stumbled on an alternate reality where everything out of a particular TV show is real!"

"We are aware that there are parallel dimensions, alternate realities if you will, but nothing quite so specific has ever occurred. The recorded instances all show a world clearly related to our own."

"I know," John seemed to take Picard's criticism without worry, "it's insane. But either I'm having a really bad dream or the universe is even more frelled up then I thought. That wormhole made a very wrong turn somewhere."

"I admit that I'm not an expert on wormhole physics but I don't recall anything that might indicate that they are linked to ..."

"Dimensional travel?" John supplied. "Sliding has a nice ring, but it's taken. Maybe we should call it a rabbit hole instead." This Crichton fellow seemed on edge.

"I..." Picard began but was cut off.

"Listen, Mon Capitan," Picard was momentarily taken aback by the address. The only one who called him that was Q, could this be one of his twisted little games? "I have all the knowledge of wormhole physics up here," John dramatically pointed at his head, "all I need is some time and quiet to drag it out."

"Mr. Worf," Picard turned to find that his Chief of Security was trying to tactfully disengage himself from the attentions of their female visitor, Chiana.

"Yes sir?" Worf's stressed tone bordered on comical. Picard had not noticed the interplay between him and Chiana but he knew Worf well enough to know that he was very uncomfortable with the exceedingly forward Chiana.

"Can I have this one?" Chiana's voice was soft, almost innocent or childlike. Picard also heard an edge of playfulness in it.

"Pip," Crichton spoke sternly, "remember Dargo."

"Yes," there was a mixture of emotions in the admission. Part of it was regret. Picard wondered who Dargo was. "But he's not here."

"We are going to get back to Moya." Crichton sounded quite sure of himself.

"Mr. Worf," Picard interrupted the byplay, "please escort our visitors to suitable quarters."

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Crichton, I'll have one of my people come and try and help you figure out what is going on."

Crichton nodded. "Thanks, Data should be a big help."

Crichton and Chiana left escorted by Worf and two security guards. A quiet exchange of looks from Picard to Worf told the latter to keep the visitors under observation at least.

"You should probably have Deanna look at them." Picard turned to Beverly.

"Yes." He realized that he had no choice.

"Are you sure that letting them out of sickbay was a good idea?"

"Not entirely, but if they are indeed from where they claim then we should try to help them. And if they aren't then Data and Troi will undoubtedly spot any falsehoods."

"There is one other thing. The human, Crichton, has some sort of device embedded in his cerebral cortex. It's clearly an implant of some sort, but I can't determine its function. When I asked him about it his demeanor became rather cold. He said that it was nothing but I thought you should know." Beverly sounded concerned.

"Do you think it poses a threat?"

"To us? No, at least not directly. I can't tell what effect, if any, it is having on him."

---

Lt. Commander Data was confused. This was not altogether unusual, being an android he lacked much of the implicit knowledge that humans and other sentients took for granted. He was intellectually aware that this failing had often made him - quite unintentionally - the subject of humor. Fortunately, along with every other emotion, he was incapable of feeling embarrassment. He was however aware that it was generally not a good idea to 'make a fool of oneself' as it was often put. While he might not feel any embarrassment, it could give people that were not familiar with him the impression that he was 'just a stupid machine.' While he had no feelings on that, one way or the other, he was aware that the impression could be detrimental to the performance of his duties. As a result, he tried not to make a fool of himself as much as possible.

Dealing with this new human, John Crichton, seemed to make that almost impossible. For one thing how should he respond to Crichton's seemingly excited exclamation "Hey, there _are_ toilets on this ship!" Clearly sanitary facilities were an essential part of any ship carrying humanoids. It was rarely the topic of conversation.

"Yes, each crew quarters is equipped with sanitary facilities that include a toilet, a sink and a sonic shower." Data fell back on reciting stored facts. "Quarters for senior staff and high ranking visitors also have a water shower and bathtub. In addition there are restrooms near essential duty stations, such as the bridge and engine room as well as near recreational facilities such as the holodecks and Ten Forward."

Crichton had apparently been availing himself of the facilities just prior to Data's entry. "Well they're certainly a lot more comfortable than the ones on Moya."

"You will find most facilities aboard the Enterprise to be of the highest standard for any humanoid life form." Crichton seemed disinterested in this line of discussion. Data was far from being an expert at reading human body language and facial expressions, but he was fairly certain that that particular hand wave signified disinterest. Based on this Data decided not to go on to list the facilities available.

"What do you know about wormholes and wormhole physics?" Data was unsure of how to respond. He began to discuss the history of wormhole research. Crichton cut him off. "Never mind the history, stick to the facts." In response Data launched into a highly technical explanation of wormholes physics, both studied phenomena as well as the theoretical body of work available. He was aware the wormholes were not fully understood and made an effort to cover all the available theories in order of popularity and general scientific credibility.

Somewhat to Data's surprise, Crichton listened to the whole dissertation with silent attentiveness. It was highly unusual for humans to listen to such extended explanations of any subject. He might have been tempted to conclude that Crichton was just feigning attention if it were not for the occasional highly insightful questions he posed.

Finally, Crichton stopped Data's lecture. "Ok, you're going off base now. Now let me tell you how it really works." Crichton then launched into an explanation of a radical new view of wormhole physics that focused heavily on temporal causality at a quantum level and the resultant parallel dimensions. So interesting was the theory that Data did not even bother to comment, let alone object, when Crichton began using the bulkhead as a blackboard to illustrate his thoughts.

---

Deanna Troi had to suppress a giggle as she entered Ten Forward. It wouldn't do for the ship's counselor to laugh at the misadventures of other members of the crew. But the look on Worf's face as he valiantly tried to disengage himself from the attentions of the ships most recent visitor, Chiana, was absolutely priceless. The usually reserved Lieutenant was absolutely at a loss as to how deflect the girl's attentions. She seemed to take his rather pointed hints that he would prefer to drink alone as encouragement.

Sensing Worf's mounting anger at the unwanted attention Deanna decided to come to his rescue. She needed to talk to Chiana anyway.

Approaching the pair Deanna introduced herself. "Hello, Chiana is it? My name is Deanna Troi, I'm the ships councilor." This got Chiana's attention. Worf's relief was the empathic equivalent of a shout in its intensity.

"Yeah, that's me." Chiana turned to face the counselor.

"Counselor." Worf rather stiffly greeted her with a nod while trying to politely get out of there.

"I see you've met our formidable Chief of Security." Deanna gave Worf her warmest smile. She wasn't prepared to let him off the hook just yet. Some social interaction would do him good.

"Oh, yes." Chiana responded, her attention at least partially back on Worf. Deanna realized that while she could sense her emotions they were very difficult to decipher. It was not uncommon when dealing with aliens, but given her otherwise humanoid appearance, the gap was larger than Deanna had expected.

"Worf, please excuse us, I need to talk to Chiana." Deanna decided it was time to get to work. Worf's relief was again palpable. He quickly nodded in farewell and hurried off. "Why don't we sit?" Deanna suggested.

Once seated she went to work. "Why don't you tell me a little about where you come from?"

"What, Moya?" Deanna vaguely sensed discomfort that was in stark contrast with Chiana's seemingly bubbly demeanor. "Not much to tell, living ship, running most of the time."

---

Captain Picard took a sip of his tea. He'd decided to try a new blend that a friend had recommended instead of his usual Earl Grey. It was all right, but not quite as good. It was probably more a matter familiarity, he mused, briefly considering dispensing with this cup and getting some Earl Grey. No, that could wait until after this meeting.

With him in his ready room were Riker, Data and Troi. Data was, Picard hoped, just wrapping up a lengthy description of his meeting with Crichton. Judging from the android's enthusiasm for the topic Picard had gathered that Data thought Crichton's theories might at least be valid.

"Thank you, mister Data." Picard finally cut him off. He knew from experience that there was no chance of hurting the androids feelings and if he didn't stop him there was a slight chance Data would continue talking for hours. "Counselor, what are your thoughts on our visitors?"

"John is remarkably intelligent. The ordeals of the last couple of years have had an effect on his mind though. He didn't seem interested in talking about it so I didn't push, but from what Chiana has told me of what's happened to him I'm surprised that he's still coherent."

"But can we believe anything he's saying?" Riker interrupted.

"I detected no falsehood in anything he said, but at times I felt like..." Deanna trailed off.

"Like what?" Picard prompted.

"Like there was something hiding from me while I was talking to him. I wish I could explain it better. It was very vague, just at the edge of consciousness but it was unsettling." Deanna finished. Picard took a moment to read her body language. While he might not have Deanna's ability to sense other peoples' emotions, he was still able to read them pretty well. Something had upset Deanna, even if she couldn't quantify it.

"And his companion?"

"Chiana's in many ways a frightened little girl. I couldn't get a very good read on her telepathically but I felt no malice from her. Some deception maybe, even mischief, but I think that's more from a rebellious nature compounded by extended time spent fighting just to survive."

"I see," Picard replied noncommittally. "Mister Data."

"Yes sir?"

"What will it take to get Crichton and his companion back home?"

"I'm still not convinced that we can trust them." Riker cautioned. Picard generally treasured Riker's zeal at protecting the ship and crew, but this time they would have to show a little faith."

"We have a responsibility to help those in need, number one," Picard reminded his first officer. "Mister Data?"

"We do not have the technology to get them home. Neither does he know exactly how accomplish it. Before we could send him home it would be necessary to build a machine to test his theory."

"What kind of machine?" Picard asked, his curiosity piqued.

"A device for artificially creating a contained wormhole. If the theory is correct a relatively small, but entirely stable wormhole should form. Measuring various aspects of it would allow him to eventually tune it to his own universe."

Picard thought about what Data had said for a minute. He could help this Crichton, but Riker had a point; was it wise to allow a stranger access to the Enterprise's technology? To help a stranger build a device supposedly capable of creating wormholes!

"Do you foresee any danger in helping him construct such a device?"

Picard watched on as Data, ever thorough, considered every possible ramification involved in creating the device before answering. "No sir. If the theories are wrong, nothing should happen. Unless our understanding of the universe is severely off a level three containment field should be more than sufficient to contain any possible release of energy that might occur."

"Do we have everything needed?"

"Yes sir, we will be able to use the holodeck to create it."

"The holodeck?" Riker sounded incredulous. In truth, Picard was also a little surprised by this.

"Yes, a holodeck simulation interacts with the 'multiverse', as Crichton calls it, just like regular matter. It is therefore possible to create the machine using photons and force fields rather than actual atoms and achieve the same result. In fact some calculations will be simpler."

"All right," Picard decided that it was worth a try. "Do it, but I want you and mister La Forge to go over it in detail before turning it on."

---

Holodecks were, in a word, cool. John looked at the completed wormhole machine, constructed entirely of photons and force fields.

It had been almost addictive how easily you could create just about anything the mind could imagine in here. While most of his time aboard the Enterprise had been spent building it, he had taken the time to experiment with the holodecks a bit. After all, he had always been curious as to exactly what holodeck program Barcley 6 contained.

John had to admit that he had never thought of the ship's doctor and counselor in exactly that manner. It had however been over a year, what harm could it do? He had been surprised how very real it felt.

"I think that should do it." La Forge interrupted John's reverie.

"Yes." John did not take his eyes off the machine that would - he hoped - find his way home.

The thought struck him; when did Moya become home?

The machine was a circle, about five meters in diameter. It was unadorned, all its inner working hidden. It was essentially just a containment vessel. It would trap a wormhole. The wormholes other end would remain in a state of flux. With some careful calibrations it should be possible to direct that flux. At least point it at the right universe. It wouldn't get him home, but if it worked it would justify building its big brother that would.

"I think we are ready." John turned to where La Forge and Data stood, hovering over the control console. They had been going over everything John had been doing this morning. Making sure that this would, in fact, not blow up the ship.

"Agreed," Data, concurred. "I have already notified the captain. He asked us to wait until he arrived."

"No problem." John meant it. True to form, the crew of the Enterprise had been very helpful. A nice change of pace from what he had become accustomed to over the last two years.

The wait was short since at that exact moment the door to the holodeck opened to admit Picard, Worf and Chiana. Apparently, Chiana was still making Worf's life miserable.

She was good at that. John carefully kept the thought to himself.

"Ah, captain," John greeted Picard, "welcome to the debut of the," John gestured expensively at the ring, "wormhole thingy."

Picard was not especially amused by John's attempt at humor. John realized that he had become very used to being considered so unusual that he there was no way to act 'normally.'

"Before we begin I just wanted to thank you for all your help," John quickly changed pace. "Lending me your top two engineers was most useful and more then generous."

"Not at all," Picard replied graciously. "You have some very exciting theories and we would like to do all we can to help you get back home." Picard didn't add that if John's story was true he more than deserved a little good fortune by now. John still heard it; it was a thorn in his side in so many ways. For the past two years he had had little opportunity to reflect on his situation. While he had been busy during his stay on the Enterprise, being safe for the first time in two years had given him some time for introspection. This was a topic he wasn't quite ready to address. He would deal with the chip in head and everything else if - no, when - he got back to Moya.

"Well, in that case I'm surprised you didn't lend me Wesley as well," John said light heartedly. He had never liked that character but he had supposedly been a gizmo wizard.

"Wesley?" Picard seemed confused.

"I believe Dr. Crusher's son is named Wesley," Worf dutifully supplied. "But he is not a part of the ship's crew."

"Really?" John was genuinely surprised. This was the first inconsistency from the TV shows that he had encountered. Everything else had matched up perfectly, right down to Guinan's hats. "In the show you made him an acting ensign within days of coming onboard."

"Wesley Crusher is still in his teens. I'm aware that he is quite gifted, but we would never let such an inexperienced youth act as a part of the crew." Picard was clearly uncomfortable with the mere idea. "Especially after that little incident on Rubicun III."

"Really?" John repeated himself but his surprise was fading. This universe couldn't have been a perfect replica of a TV series. Some things on TV just can't make sense in any 'real' universe. "Doesn't matter anyways. I think we are about ready to fire this bad boy up." Get back on topic.

"Data?" Picard queried.

"The machine is complete and should function as promised. We have set up a force field around the device that can be activated at a moment's notice in case anything goes wrong."

"Alright, if you and Geordi," Picard paused just long enough to get a nod from La Forge, "are satisfied you may proceed with the experiment."

"Right," John was more than ready. "Computer, run Crichton One."

Immediately the holodeck begins to vibrate softly.

"Energy output within expected levels," Data intoned as everyone else focused on the circular wormhole machine. Suddenly a blue white, irregularly shaped cone seemed to splash out towards them. It only reached about five meters before snapping back to form a shimmering surface that covered the hollow center of the device.

"That's the wormhole's event horizon. The device is holding it static, that's why it's flat instead of looking like a 'hole in space.'" John could scarcely believe it himself; he had done it. Before him was a contained wormhole terminus.

"Power levels are rising." Data cut through John's reverie.

"Cause?" Picard asked even as John hurried over to the console Data was using to monitor the device.

"Unknown," Data's voice was calm, but John knew that that wasn't warranted.

"We got incoming," John shouted even as he deciphered the readings on the console.

"Is that dangerous?" Picard's voice was almost as level as Data's, almost.

"Only if the machine isn't aligned properly for materialization," John shot back even as his hands flow over the controls. "Matter doesn't really exist inside a wormhole. When it emerges, the terminus goes through one hell of a hiccup to realign the energy into regular matter. This wormhole is being contained so it can't do that. The machine has to be aligned with the wormholes 'frequency' - for lack of a better word - or whatever is coming through will be destroyed and all its energy released explosively." John knew all that even though he had never considered it before. Clearly, the Ancients had spared no expense when they outfitted his brain with wormhole physics.

"But..." Picard began.

"Look, do you want me to recite technobabble or do you want me to fix this." John retorted. He was almost out of time and things were getting tricky. Even for someone with Ancient wormhole tech stuffed in his brain.

Everyone wisely choose to leave John to his work. From the corner of his eye he could see though, that Data was poised to activate the containment field if he did not succeed.

No chance of that, John thought grimly. There was no way that he was going to be responsible for the deaths of whoever it was that was traveling through that wormhole.

Finally, everything lined up. A split second later four people came hurtling out of the captured wormhole, landing in a heap just in front of the device. John quickly noted that they were human (or at least very close). Three men and one woman. They all seemed to be wearing some sort of army camouflage gear and utility harnesses. They were also armed with submachine guns and nine-millimeter pistols.

John turned to see Worf aiming a phaser at the new arrivals.

"Easy big guy," John was sure he didn't want a firefight breaking out. At least not until someone fixed Wynona.

The new arrivals were getting to their feet, clearly somewhat dazed by their exit from the wormhole. The leader of the group, at least John though he was the leader - it said Colonel on his uniform - looked around, somewhat confused.

"Carter," the Colonel said, "I think you dialed a wrong number."

---

Despite some body of evidence to the contrary Colonel Jack O'Neill was by no means stupid. Being teamed with two of Earth's brightest tended to cast you in a poor light. Nevertheless, despite his professed ignorance of technical matters, he usually knew a lot more then he let on. This time though he was stumped. Since when did the Stargate connect Earth and television shows!?! This was either the most elaborate prank ever played on him or the worst wrong turn he'd made in his entire life.

Standing before him were four of the characters out of Star Trek. Not that O'Neill was a trekkie or anything, but he had seen enough episodes here and there over the years to recognize Picard and co. The room they were in, with its yellow lines forming a grid on the black background, could only be a holodeck. The Stargate behind him didn't look a bit like the real thing either. Only its shape and size was the same. It had no markings.

"This is a joke right?" O'Neill kept his P90 aimed in the general direction of the locals. They didn't seem hostile but O'Neill knew better then to trust appearances.

"I don't think so sir."

"Carter, tell me we did not just gate onto the set of Star Trek."

Before Carter could answer one of the humans moved cautiously forward. "I think I can explain," he said. O'Neill didn't recognize him and hoped that that was a good sign.

"Ok," O'Neill conceded.

"You are in a parallel reality. We were running an experiment that went wrong and captured your wormhole. Redirected you here."

"And who are you?"

"My name is John Crichton. I wound up here by mistake also; I was trying to get home when..."

"Carter?"

"We know alternate realities exist, we've been to at least two of them. But we've never had any indication that wormholes connect them."

"Yeah it's a little complicated," Crichton replied. "Look, why don't we all lower our weapons now and talk it over." Crichton looked from O'Neill to the Klingon security guard with the phaser.

This is just too surreal, O'Neill reflected. Still, this didn't look like a situation you could shoot yourself out of. O'Neill lowered his P90. Turning to his team, he saw Carter and Teal'c lower theirs as well. Jonas had never raised his.

This seemed to diffuse most of the tension in the room.

"Star Trek?" Jonas sounded confused. That was nothing new.

"It's a television series back home," Carter filled him in, "but there can't be a universe where everything in it exists."

"Yeah, takes some getting used to," Crichton again, "but trust me it can."

"Hi, Jack." O'Neill whirled around at the unexpected and familiar voice.

"Daniel! What the hell are you doing here?" O'Neill demanded.

"Well, ah, I've been sort of keeping an eye on you guys since, you know..."

"Yes, I know, thanks for last time by the way."

"What? Daniel? Sir, you've seen him before since he ahh..." Carter was clearly taken aback. Too many strange things were happening at once.

"As have I," Teal'c chimed in.

"What? So he's visited everyone but me since..." Since he died, ascended. Whatever you want to call it. Shame on you Daniel for not visiting Carter as well, O'Neill thought with a touch of humor. Carter was clearly a little bit hurt by that.

"Not me," Jonas, as always, a little behind on the conversation. The three other SG-1 team members gave him a look. The silence gave Daniel a chance to finally get in a word.

"When you all suddenly dropped off the, ah, universe, so to speak, I got worried."

"Can you take us back home?" Carter asked hopefully. O'Neill already knew better.

"Ah, no. I'm not allowed to interfere."

"So what are you doing here?" O'Neill demanded.

"I just wanted to make sure you guys were alright. This universe is so far removed from our own that it doesn't even entirely obey the same laws of physics."

"How's that even possible?" Sam sounded confused. That was never a good sign.

"Excuse me," Picard interrupted, "there seems to be a lot of things happening all at once. I take it you know me and my crew."

"Yes, I'm Colonel Jack O'Neil United States Air Force," O'Neill introduced himself and then "Major Carter, Teal'c and Jonas. We are an exploration team." Pause, then. "From Earth, our Earth, I think.

"And this," motioning towards Daniel, "is Daniel; he used to be on the team until he sorta died last year."

"Ascended, sir." Carter corrected him.

"Interesting," Picard seemed totally unperturbed by the presence of such unorthodox visitors.

"Really," O'Neill quipped.

"While we are nowhere near the point in our evolution where such a thing is possible we recently had the privilege of being present as the first member of an alien species ascended. John was..."

"John?" Crichton suddenly interrupted, "John Doe, as in you found him half dead, no memories and a cool glowy healing power?"

"Yes," Picard replied cautiously.

"How long have you been in command of the Enterprise?" Crichton was becoming agitated.

"Almost three years, what are you getting at?"

"Season 3, we are at the _end_ of season 3!" Crichton exclaimed, almost hysterically.

Everyone just looked at Crichton without the slightest idea what he was talking about. Except O'Neill.

"Oh, crap," O'Neill said as the realization struck him, "the Borg."


	2. What we need is a big frelling gun

**Chapter 2: What we need is a big frelling gun**

"I find these 'Borg' to be most fascinating." They were back in the schoolroom. Harvey was pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard.

"Yeah, they're real sweethearts." John wasn't in the mood for this. With the Borg coming there was no way that Picard would allow him to continue his work. Even if he did, there wasn't enough time. He could build the machine, but it would take weeks to calibrate it and find the way back home.

"They must be stopped, John." Where had that come from? The neural clone was not exactly what John would call altruistic.

"They will be." The crew of the Enterprise always won in the end after all.

"Maybe if we hadn't come here, but we have already changed things, you know that. And if the Federation looses we will never get back." Of course, that's all it cared about, getting back to Scorpious.

"So, what do you want me to do about?" John retorted. He was angry and tired. For the past two years, nothing had gone right. He'd been stumbling from one crisis to the next.

"John, snap out of it." Harvey was suddenly right in front of him, close enough for John to smell his rancid breath. "Why do you think Scorpious was so anxious to get the wormhole technology in your head?"

"The Peacekeepers want to use it as a weapon. With it you can move fleets and armies faster than Speedy Gonzales." John sprang up and shook Harvey off. He was making John uncomfortable.

"John, you're not thinking big enough." This stopped John dead in his tracks.

"He wanted to use it as an actual weapon," John realized, "but how?"

"You're the one with a brain full of wormhole technology, _you_ tell _me_."

John sat back down, his mind working furiously, digging through the wormhole technology that had been given to him. The formulas up on the blackboard started to shift with increasing speed as his mind sought the answer.

"Good John, you are almost there."

"That's it!" John jumped up from his chair and gazed at the new formula on the blackboard. Harvey sauntered up to his side, studying the formulas as well.

"Yes John, you've got it."

"That's one big frelling gun."

---

"Sir, since when do you watch Star Trek?" Carter asked O'Neill politely but with an edge of playfulness. It wasn't every day she got to needle her CO this way.

The members of SG-1 had each been given their own quarters. Daniel had not stayed long, but had left to find out if there was anything that he could, in fact, do. Right now they were all gathered in O'Neill's quarters.

"Who said I watched Star Trek?" He replied defensively, knowing that he wasn't going to win this one.

"You did, you recognized where we were and what's going on."

"So what, everyone knows Star Trek, are you telling me you've never seen an episode?"

"Sure, I've seen a few here and there but not enough to know what happens at the end of season four."

"I believe it is the end of season three, Major Carter," Teal'c politely corrected her.

"See, even Teal'c knows what season it is," O'Neill's argument earned him nothing more than a slightly raised eyebrow on Teal'c. "Look, it was on right after the Simpsons and I couldn't find the remote." They were clearly not buying it. Time for a diversion.

"Jonas, would you please stop playing with that." Jonas turned away from the replicator that he had been ordering stuff out of for the last ten minutes.

"Sorry," Jonas replied, clearly not very sorry at all, "it's just, this thing, it's amazing. I mean it can create almost anything I order."

"We've seen them a million times on TV," O'Neill replies, "besides the Asgard have them as well, right?" O'Neill looked to Carter for confirmation.

"Yes sir, but the menu on Asgard ships leaves a bit to be desired."

"Ok, let's get down to business. We know how we got here. Carter, how do we get home?"

"It's not that simple sir. The machine that Crichton was building can theoretically get us back home. But it will take weeks of calibration to find our own reality."

"Major Carter," Teal'c interrupted, "when an alternate version of you came through to our reality some time ago, she was unable to survive for more than a few days before she was forced back to her own reality. Are we not in the same danger?"

"I don't think so. If I understand Crichton's theories, we should be fine. I think what happened before was a side effect of the Quantum Mirror that we found. Maybe a design flaw or a deliberate security mechanism."

"Ok, so we are not going to vanish in a puff of smoke. Now, how do we keep from being assimilated when the Borg attack?" O'Neill asked.

"Who are these Borg anyway," Jonas interrupted. The rest of the group was momentarily speechless. "Seriously, I've never seen the show or heard of these Borg. Borg," he added, almost as if trying the word on, "sounds Swedish."

At this O'Neill grunted in exasperation, while Carter gave Jonas a faint smile and Teal'c carefully raised one eyebrow a couple of millimeters.

"You just said a line out of one of the movies." Carter told him.

"Movies? I thought this was a TV show." Jonas seemed even more confused.

"The Borg are a highly advanced species of cybernetic humanoids that share a group consciousness. Their goal is to assimilate all other races and add positive traits to their culture." Teal'c further enlightened Jonas.

"All right if we're all done filling Jonas in, can we get back to figuring out how we can keep the Borg from adding _our_ biological distinctiveness to their own?" O'Neill brought them back to topic, "Carter."

"We could ask the crew to drop us off somewhere while they fight the Borg. But we have no way of knowing if they'll win. I mean this reality isn't _exactly_ like the TV series, just very, very close. And if the Federation looses..."

"We're not getting home." Jonas finished Carter's sentence.

"So?" O'Neill prompted.

"So, we do whatever we can to help."

"We're going to fight the Borg?" This couldn't possibly be happening.

Carter thought it over for a moment. "Well, yes sir, it may come to that."

"Great, just great."

---

"Come," Picard barely glanced up as his first officer entered.

"Sir, Admiral Hanson is on the line," Riker informed him.

"Sit down, number one." Picard waved at one of the chairs opposite his desk. "It seems like Crichton was right."

"Yes sir," Riker agreed. Crichton had predicted that this call would come within days. It had barely been five hours.

Picard activated the console on his desk. The Starfleet emblem was quickly replaced by the image of Admiral Hanson.

"Admiral, good to see you again," Picard greeted him, "although I wish the circumstances were brighter."

"You know what this call is about?" If the situation hadn't been so grave, Picard would have smiled at the Admiral's rare confusion.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, we've lost a Federation colony. You suspect it's the Borg."

"That's right, how did you know that, I only just got the report."

"We've got a visitor and," Picard began, "J.P., it is the Borg."

Picard quickly filled the Admiral in on the situation aboard the Enterprise.

"Jean-Luc, are you sure you can trust this Crichton?"

"He knew that Riker had been offered the Melbourne when even I didn't. He also knew that Will was going to turn the commission down, something he had not told anyone. And he knew that this call was coming and that you would bring a Lieutenant Commander Shelby with you, who is hoping for a shot at Will's job. Am I right so far?"

"Spot on, I'm afraid. Jean-Luc, if he's from the future..."

"He's not from the future, Admiral," Picard forestalled the expected argument, "we thought of that. But there is nothing to indicate that he is anything other then what he says he is."

"A man from an alternate reality where your lives are nothing more than an entertainment program," the Admiral was understandably suspicious.

"It's hard to credit, I know, but that doesn't change the situation. The Borg are coming."

"Has he given you any insights on how we should deal with them."

"According to Crichton they will move to attack Earth directly. I recommend that you start marshalling the fleet around it. Apparently, the Borg will try to assimilate me before moving on to Earth. This means we might be able to delay them a bit out here."

"All right Jean-Luc, we'll play it your way," the Admiral conceded, but Picard knew him well enough to know that he wasn't happy about it. "I still think Shelby can help you. We'll rendezvous and drop her off."

"Thank you Admiral, I'm sure she'll be a big help. I believe that what we need..."

Picard was cut off as Crichton stormed in unannounced.

"What we _need_, captain, is a big frelling gun," Crichton announced, somewhat dramatically as he crashed into the seat next to Riker's.

Picard motioned Riker to remain seated.

"Would you care to explain that?" Riker demanded.

"Admiral dude, Captain, number one, I've got a plan and you're gonna like it."

---

Tensions were already high the briefing room. It was also getting somewhat crowded with most of the Enterprises senior staff in attendance plus the all the visitors. Deanna had to focus her empathy carefully to keep from being overrun with all of the emotions.

She stood near the door, greeting the visitors as they entered. John gave her no more than a quick nod. His emotions were running high, not with fear, but with anticipation, an eagerness to get things done. He radiated confidence, but Deanna also felt his insecurities, buried deep down, below even his conscious awareness.

Chiana was a few steps behind him. She was worried. Deanna couldn't be sure of what. It wasn't the Borg though, she was not afraid for herself, just worried about something.

SG-1 arrived together. Deanna was not surprised. They had clearly worked closely together for quite some time. Their leader, Jack, greeted her by name although this was the first time they had met in person. She could sense that he recognized her and that he found something very amusing. He carefully kept that feeling under control.

Deanna returned the greeting and turned to the other members of the team. From the big warrior, Teal'c she sensed only calmness. If he was worried, he was keeping it under strict control. The woman in the team, Samantha, was both very excited and somewhat apprehensive while the last member of the team, Jonas, was mostly excited, somewhat confused and just a little bit afraid.

The last person to arrive was a tall, blond Lieutenant Commander that Deanna did not recognize.

"Deanna," Will was suddenly at her side, "I don't believe you've met Lieutenant Commander Shelby. She's here to help us with the Borg." There was a mixture of emotions coming from Will. She didn't know what to make of it.

"Welcome aboard the Enterprise," Deanna cheerfully greeted Shelby.

"Thank you." It was almost a brush off. Shelby seemed focused on something. Almost like she was clinging to something that was slipping away.

"I think everyone is here," Picard's slightly raised voice silenced the room immediately, "why don't we get started."

Those still standing quickly took their seats. They had had to bring in additional chairs to accommodate everyone.

"As you all know," Picard continued, "we have established that the Borg are getting ready to attack the Federation. A defense is being mounted around Earth, but we believe that the Borg will attack this ship before they move on to sector zero, zero, one." The tension in the room went up a fraction. Deanna could sense that even the captain, his cool outwards demeanor notwithstanding, was apprehensive.

"Mister La Forge, you've been working on some modifications to ship's systems?" Picard prompted his chief engineer.

"We've configured the shield's to operate on a randomly modulated frequency. That should make it harder for the Borg to adapt. We've also made similar adjustment to the phasers."

"It has also been suggested," Data cut in, "that similar modifications be made to hand held weapons if we need to fight them hand to hand."

"Very good," Picard replied, "see to it." Then turning to Shelby, "Commander Shelby, Admiral Hanson gave you high praise. Any thoughts on additional measures we could take?"

Deanna sensed a wave of discomfort from Shelby. "We've been working on several weapons against the Borg..."

"None of which will be ready this century." John interrupted.

Deanna felt a mixture of anger and frustration from Shelby as she replied, "I wouldn't say that. We are projecting..."

Again, John cut her off, "that it won't be ready until after we are all assimilated. Everyone that's happy with that plan, raise your hand."

Understandably, no one raised their hand. John's approach was not very tactful, but it drove home a point, they didn't have a plan for dealing with the Borg.

"Look, I'm sorry if I'm coming on a little strong here, but I've got a toy that can be in stores before Christmas." Deanna found John's enthusiasm infectious and couldn't help but enjoy the, she realized, totally unconscious, over the top, theatrics. And while some in the audience had a little trouble keeping up with his metaphors, that paled into insignificance when trying to understand his plan.

Certainly, it was way beyond Deanna. She prided herself in the fact that she could generally keep up with, at least in general terms, the advanced sciences and engineering issues that the crew regularly tackled. This time around, all she was able to get was that John wanted to build the world's most unconventional weapon, using wormhole technology.

She quickly stopped trying to keep up with the lecture and focused her attention back on the people in the room. That was after all her specialty.

Most seemed only marginally less confused then she was. Major Carter of SG-1 seemed to be following John's explanations, as did La Forge. While she couldn't sense his nonexistent emotions, Data looked captivated, a sure sign that he was following the discourse.

Colonel O'Neill had clearly given up trying to understand any of it and was now just bored. Nor was Picard listening to John's explanation, instead he was deep in thought. He'd heard it before.

The newly arrived Lieutenant Commander, Shelby, was struggling to keep up. Deanna felt increasing frustration from her at her inability to comprehend John's proposed weapon.

A few minutes later John wrapped his presentation up. "And if it all works, we'll have some Borgs, extra crispy."

"Does anyone have any comments?" Picard asked.

Shelby looked as if she wanted to say something but then thought better of it.

"All right," Picard continued, "what do you need to get it ready?"

"All the help I can get."

"All right, La Forge, Data, you'll assist Mister Crichton, but I want those modifications to shields and phasers completed as well. You'll set up in shuttle bay one."

"Excuse me," Major Carter interrupted, "I think I could help as well."

"Me also," Shelby added.

Picard looked to John for a response. "Sure."

"Then that's settled." Picard began wrapping up the meeting. "People, I don't need to remind you of the gravity of the situation. Our actions in the next few days may decide the fate of the entire Federation."

---

Samantha Carter found herself in an unusual situation, working on the 'big gun' project. While she was used to taking orders, she had - she now realized - become rather accustomed to the fact that she was the world's foremost expert on wormhole technology. Of course, she had, at times, been forced to work hard on problems, but this was the first time she'd had to work hard, just to keep up! Crichton's intuitive understanding of wormhole physics, even its multidimensional aspects - which still eluded Sam - was amazing.

She was however getting the hang of 'elementary wormhole physics,' as Crichton had dubbed it, and was able to contribute to the project. Apparently, the other blond working on the project was not having as much luck.

"...without any regard for standard safety regulations." Shelby finished her tirade. Sam was barely able to suppress a smile at the reversal of roles from what would have happened had none of them been there. With her role as the 'Borg expert' undercut by John, Shelby had become increasingly frustrated. Especially when it became clear that she did not, despite some technical prowess, have the aptitude to assist on the project. Sam had quickly realized that Shelby was a good leader, but there was only room for one leader on this job, and that role was taken.

For his part, Riker seemed equally amused. He had had a chance to get to know Crichton a bit before this. While he didn't exactly trust him, he trusted Picard, and Picard seemed to trust Crichton. Case closed.

"And I still say we should mount the weapon on the Enterprise," Shelby added one more objection before allowing Riker a word in edgewise.

"We've already been over that, we need to draw the Borg's attention away from it. That's exactly what the Enterprise will do."

"But still."

"Commander," Riker interrupted her sternly, "do you have a better plan for dealing with the Borg?" He stared her down until she gently shook her head. "Then I suggest you get out of Crichton's way and let him do his job."

Sam turned back to her work as the two left. These adjustments had to be precise. A moment later Crichton was at her side.

"Looks good," he told her. She realized that he had been inside his module and had heard the entire exchange between Shelby and Riker. He didn't seem bothered by it.

"It is going to work, isn't it?"

"Sure," he replied. Sam got the feeling he wanted to say more, but something kept him from doing is. A moment later, he turned back to work on the salvaged module.

---

Chiana was worried. She wasn't worried about the Borg, which she supposed she should be, but she'd never heard of them before, and she had grown up with greater threats. The threat of being 'mind cleansed' was at the top of the list. Certainly, assimilation couldn't be much worse.

No, she was worried about Crichton. It was a little unfamiliar feeling, worrying about someone else. Aside from her brother, she had rarely worried about anyone other than herself. Why should she? It wasn't as if anyone cared about her, except maybe the bastards in charge back home on Nebari, eager to mind cleanse her.

She shuddered at the thought.

However, Crichton had helped her when he hadn't had to. He had stood up for her when no one else would have. Somehow, the crew of Moya had become family over the last year. And Crichton was the reason that had been possibly. He brought them together.

And he wasn't himself now.

It was nothing obvious, Crichton behaved strangely on a daily basis, but he been increasingly abrupt, distant and cold lately.

She passed the blond Major as she entered the shuttle bay where Crichton was outfitting his module with whatever it was that he was building. Crichton was alone.

"John," she called. She rarely called him John. Crichton was better, more distance.

"Yeah," Crichton barely looked up at her.

"Can we talk," she pressed on.

"Why, did Worf manage to find a place to hide?"

If Nebari had been prone to blushing, she would have done so. Fortunately, for her Nebari did not. Her attraction to the big burly Chief of Security was more a reaction to the problems she and Dargo had been having than anything else. She had felt that they were moving way too fast, she wasn't ready for more.

So she had, in a way, acted out. Worf's demeanor had done little to discourage her. Sure, he acted all stern and disapproving, but his eyes and scent told another story. Chiana was an expert at seduction, and she knew when she was pushing all the right buttons.

Strangely, she found herself missing Dargo more and more.

"John, I'm worried about you." There she'd said it.

"I'm about to fly this thing close enough to a Borg cube to get out and ring the front door bell. I'm not exactly zero cool myself."

"That's not what I mean. Even before we came here, you were becoming," she paused a moment, looking for the right word. "Strange," was the only thing she could come with.

"Haven't you heard? I'm the freaky human. Primitive, strange, weird, take your pick."

"It's more than that. And since when do you know all this wormhole stuff. I thought you were years away from figuring it out."

This finally got his attention. She had hit a nerve. He stopped what he was doing and looked her in the eye. "I'm fine." He seemed to want to say more.

"And the wormhole stuff?"

"This is our only hope." She started to argue but he cut her off. "Look, Pip, I don't have time for this. We can talk about it when we're back on Moya."

Chiana thought about arguing further but realized that it was futile.

"Fine, have it your way," she threw her hands up and left.

---

"Red alert, Captain Picard to the bridge." Data's voice was its usual dispassionate self. He knew that if he had had feelings then he would likely have been experiencing a mixture of excitement, fueled by an adrenaline rush, and a great sense of trepidation. They had located the Borg.

The red alert warning lights came on almost before he had finished his sentence and senior staff began arriving on the bridge.

"Report," Picard snapped as he strode onto the bridge from his ready room.

"Borg cube detected, it is on an interception course." Data informed the captain, even as he moved to take his usual post at ops.

"How long?"

"Twenty minutes, thirty-three seconds."

"We need more time than that. Helm, plot a course directly away from the Borg, maximum warp."

"Aye aye, sir," the ensign at the helm acknowledged.

"Mister La Forge," Picard spoke into the intercom, "I want all the power that the engines can give us, we need to buy a little bit of time."

"On it captain," came the expected reply from Geordi.

"Data, how long until they overtake us?"

"Borg cube has accelerated to warp nine point nine eight. At present speed it will overtake us in one hour, twenty minutes..."

Picard cut him off, "and if we push the engines to maximum?"

"We may be able to match their speed for two hours. I would estimate no more than two hours thirty minutes, sir."

The turbo lift doors opened to admit Commander Riker and John Crichton.

"Captain," Crichton began, "Farscape 1 is ready. I just need thirty minutes to calibrate the wormhole."

"What do you need from us?" Picard asked.

"I've already picked the sun. But you've got to get the Borg to drop out of warp."

"They are following us; they'll drop out of warp when we do."

"Yes sir," Riker agreed, "but they'll also lock on us with their tractor beams. We need to be far away when John pulls that trigger."

"I believe we can accomplish that," Data helpfully interjected.

"Explain."

"By varying the phase frequency of our phasers when we fire at the tractor emitter we should be able to break free."

"It worked on the show," Crichton, perhaps not so helpfully, added.

"Very well, we have a plan. John," Picard turned to Crichton again, "when you are ready we will drop out of warp and launch your module. The Borg should not be interested in it. Once you are in position, we will break contact with the Borg and go to warp."

"I'll make it so," Crichton called over his shoulder as the rushed back to the turbo lift that had now opened to admit the members of SG-1.

---

O'Neill was having a difficult time deciding how he felt about the current situation. On the one hand he was standing on the bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-D, about to engage the Borg. How cool was that!

On the other hand, he was standing on the bridge of a fictional starship about to engage equally fictional villains. If he ever got back home, his report might earn him a section eight, if not a straightjacket.

Then there was the fact that they were about to go toe to toe with the friggin' _Borg_! It was enough to void the bowels of lesser people.

Fortunately, O'Neill could fall back on decades of military experience; he simply ignored the insanity and focused on what he could do to improve his chances of getting out of this alive.

"Farscape 1 signals that it is ready to launch," Worf informed the bridge crew in his rumbling baritone.

"Open shuttle bay doors," Picard ordered. "Helm, prepare to drop to impulse on my order."

"Sir, at present the Borg will be in weapons range three minutes, twelve seconds after we drop out of warp."

"Thank you mister Data," Picard acknowledged.

"Shuttle bay doors open."

"Helm, drop to impulse."

There was almost dead silence on the bridge as the streaking stars snapped to fixed positions on the front view screen.

"Farscape 1 is away."

"Helm, set course two seven zero, by zero one zero, " Riker ordered, "full impulse."

"This IS going to work, isn't it?" O'Neill couldn't help himself from quietly asking Carter. Carter knew him well enough not to answer.

"Borg vessel is dropping out of warp." Even Data seemed tense.

"Sir, the Borg are hailing you, personally," Worf informed Picard.

Picard turned to O'Neill and SG-1. "As you predicted," then to Worf, "on screen."

A familiar image of the interior of a Borg cube appeared on the front view screen.

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard. You lead the strongest ship of the Federation fleet. You speak for your people."

Picard's smile was almost feral. "You are in violation of Federation territory, leave immediately or we will destroy you!"

"Resistance is futile. We wish to improve ourselves. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service ours."

"I'll take that as a no then," Picard replied levelly.

"You must comply. Your archaic cultures are authority driven. To facilitate our introduction..." Worf cut off the Borg's litany at a gesture from Picard.

"Brave words," Riker noted quietly, "let's hope we can back them up."

"Borg vessel has locked onto us with a tractor beam," Data noted.

"Shields are being drained," Worf added, "estimate five minutes until they are breached."

"It's up to Crichton now."

---

After launching, John piloted the module on a course exactly opposite of the one the Enterprise took. Thus when the Borg cube dropped out of warp and locked on to the Enterprise, it placed itself between the starship and the module.

Looking at the immense cube shaped vessel, John was momentarily awestruck at its size. These things really were big!

John glanced at the feed from the Enterprise when the tractor beam locked onto it. Its shields would hold for a few minutes. If it wasn't in warp by then it would have bigger things to worry about then the Borg.

John engaged the 'big gun,' as he called it. Almost instantly, a wormhole opened up directly in front of the module. The device allowed him to target its event horizon so that it pointed directly away from the module, in direction of the Borg cube.

The other end of that wormhole opened up near the surface of a highly unstable star several light years away. It only took a few seconds before a massive eruption of stellar matter exploded directly into it.

"Enterprise," John half shouted, "you need to be elsewhere, right now!"

The plasma from the star was racing through the wormhole. It was only a matter of seconds before it erupted from this end and the only safe place within several million miles would be right behind the wormhole.

The Enterprise had opened fire with its phasers on the Borg's tractor emitter, but it was still being held in place.

"Come on, break free," John muttered to himself. A part of him wondered if talking to himself wasn't a sure sign that he had lost it. Another part of him rather smugly pointed out that someone with a neural clone lodged in his brain was never, technically, alone and could therefore, by definition, not talk to himself as such.

Of course having a neural clone in your brain seemed like an excellent way of being driven out of your mind, John reflected. The pun went almost unnoticed.

The Borg realized the danger to late. As the superheated plasma from the distant star spewed out of the wormhole, only a few hundred meters away from them, they desperately tried to maneuver out of its way.

It was way too late and the stellar ejecta ravaged the giant vessel. The superheated matter ripping away layer after layer of it, until nothing remained.

John shut off the wormhole and the fiery plume was cut off. The mass already ejected would travel for several minutes until it would cool down enough not to pose a threat to navigation.

There was no sign of the Borg cube. It had been utterly vaporized.

There was no sign of the Enterprise either.

---

"Enterprise, you need to be elsewhere, right now!"

"Now, mister Data," Picard ordered.

Data had been waiting, quite calmly of course, for the expected order to fire on the Borg's tractor emitter with the modified phasers. He executed the command in the same microsecond as the Captain issued the order.

The Enterprise's phasers began firing, randomly shifting its phase frequency, trying to break through the Borg's defenses.

"Helm, stand by for warp," Riker needlessly ordered.

Something was wrong. "The phasers do not appear to have any effect," Data calmly reported.

"We're running out of time," Riker stated what everyone was thinking.

"Data," Major Carter suddenly spoke up, "focus on high bands only."

Knowing that there was very little time Data did not wait for Picard to approve and immediately adjusted the phase shifts to have a lower bound, quite above the usual phaser frequencies.

Even as he did so he noticed that the wormhole was beginning to spew forth plasma on the far side of the Borg cube.

The ship shuddered as the phasers finally broke through the Borg's defenses and the tractor beam was terminated. Knowing that there was no time spare, Data engaged the warp engines at least half a second before Picard yelled, "engage!"

In the second it took the warp engines to establish a warp field to drive the ship, the plasma overtook the Borg cube and began devouring it. Luckily, the Enterprise was almost exactly in the Borg vessel's immense shadow, buying it a precious few microseconds for the warp engines to engage fully.

Even as they did, Data noted that a significant amount of plasma was caught in their wake, and was being pulled along behind the ship. Its inertia would allow it to catch up to the Enterprise in a few seconds. Since it was inside the warp field it could not be outrun.

"Brace for impact," Data warned the crew. A second later the plasma hit. This time the ship shook fiercely enough to throw Data away from his duty station at ops. Several control consoles on the bridged fizzled as the circuits overloaded and the bridge was thrown into darkness.

---

"Damage report," were the first things out of Picard's mouth once the world stopped shaking.

Before he could do much more the emergency lights came on. A quick visual inspection of the bridge told Picard that no one was dead or seriously injured. Just bumps and bruises. People were already hurrying back to their duty stations.

"You know, you people should _really_ think about installing some seatbelts on this thing," Colonel O'Neill quipped even as he picked himself up from where he had been thrown.

"Sickbay reports no fatalities," Riker was already back at his post. "There are however several serious injuries."

"Thank you," Picard was much relieved. "Data?"

"Engines are down, both impulse and warp. The plasma caused serious damage to the left warp nacelle. It will require several weeks to repair. Other systems should be online within the hour.

"Communications?"

"Down," Worf replied, "but undamaged. We are running on emergency power only. As soon as power is available we can reestablish contact with Farscape 1. Long range sensors are, however, inoperable"

"Engineering, how long until you can get main power back?"

"Captain," La Forge's voice came over the intercom, "it should be coming online right about ... now." Sure enough, the familiar hum of full power being restored filled the bridge, and the emergency lights were replaced by regular lighting.

"Good work, mister La Forge."

"Thank you Captain, La Forge out."

"Crichton, is he alright?" Chiana demanded as she entered the bridge.

"We're about to find out," Picard replied levelly. "Mister Worf, please try to hail Farscape 1."

"We already have an incoming transmission from the module."

"Good, then he's probably fine. On screen."

"Enterprise, this is Farscape 1, do you read?" John's voice was slightly distorted and the image that appeared on the screen was mostly static.

"This is Picard. Crichton, are you all right?"

"Hey, I thought I lost you guys," came Crichton's, somewhat distorted, reply. "Yeah, I'm fine what about you?"

"No casualties. We're a little worse for wear, but nothing that cannot be fixed. I'm afraid we won't have engine power to come and get you for some time."

"No sweat, I've got a lock on you. I should reach your location in about two hours."

"That should give us just enough time to pull out the red carpet," Picard felt relieved enough to make a light jest. "Enterprise out."

---

"So, what? We don't get to fight the Borg?" O'Neill asked Carter, real casual as he walked onto the bridge. She'd been lending a hand with the repairs – was there anything that that woman couldn't do – while he'd tried to stay out of the way.

"I guess not, sir," she replied, straight faced.

People were gathering on the bridge, waiting for Farscape 1 to return.

"Shouldn't he be here by now?" O'Neill asked no one in particular.

"Yes, he should," Picard replied. "Mister Worf, try hailing him again."

Worf did some stuff, that generated some degree of bleeping, before replying, "still no response."

"The static couldn't be that bad," Riker sounded concerned.

"No it couldn't," Picard agreed. "Status of long range sensors?"

"Engineering reports that it will take at least another hour."

"We could launch a shuttle to go look for him," Riker suggested.

"Perhaps..." Picard began, but was cut off as Worf interrupted.

"Sir, Borg cube detected, distance one thousand kilometers and closing!"

"I thought we kicked their asses," O'Neill asked.

"We did," Worf replied, "this is not the same vessel as before."

"Two cubes," Carter sounded confused, a sure sign of trouble. "There was only one in the show."

"It would appear this reality is not an exact replica of your TV show, Major Carter."

"Ya think?"

"Shields up, phasers ready," Riker ordered.

"Shields at ten percent. Phasers ready," Worf confirmed, then added, "incoming hail."

"On screen."

Instead of a wide shot of the cubes interior, a close up of John Crichton's profile appeared on the screen. As he turned to face the view screen Borg implants on his right cheek were revealed. Including the red laser that O'Neill remembered Picard having on the TV show.

_TV show_!?! That seemed a million miles and a thousand years ago. This was undeniably real.

Crichton spoke, "I am Locutus of Borg. Resistance is futile. Your life as it has been is over. From this time forward ... you will service us.

"Have a nice day."


	3. Assimilate this

**Chapter 3: Assimilate this**

We are the Borg. The thought was at the center of the group consciousness. Its single unifying concept; we are one, we are the Borg.

Of course the hive mind was, intellectually, aware that it was not one. It was many _as_ one, and right now a part of those many were in trouble.

The two vessels were far from home, over fifty thousand light years – although they did not use that measurement. This far from home, the two parts were alone; the immense distance denied them communication with the whole.

They were still Borg. Each part was still Borg.

The other part was, however, in trouble. The hive mind felt the blazing inferno burst from the wormhole that had suddenly appeared. It engulfed the other part, consumed it until it was no more.

The entire other part of the collective was gone. This part was now alone. We are the Borg.

This new weapon demanded immediate action. Its power was immense. Nothing like it had ever been encountered.

However, this part of the collective was light-years away, under normal power it would take too long to get there. The enemy would have left, regrouped. Resistance might not be futile.

We must act, now! The consensus was a given.

There was only one way, Species 7042 had been working on a superior mode of travel. By using a tachyon pulse they had theorized that it would be possible to open a subspace conduit that would allow for extremely rapid travel. Such a conduit could reduce the days long trip, to mere minutes. If it worked.

There was no choice, no other option; the new weapon _must be assimilated_!

Home had been working on the technology when this part left. By now it might well be in common usage.

The collective considered the problem for a moment before deciding. It would build the proposed prototype. It would only take minutes with the full resources of the collective working on it. There was a chance that using it would destroy this part of the collective as well. That chance had to be taken.

The work proceeded rapidly. As the collective analyzed the problem, several minor modifications were made to improve the probability of success. Finally, it was ready.

To guard against failure, the collective sent a detailed message back Home. It would take a long time to reach there, but it would at least provide warning if this part was unsuccessful.

The conduit opened. All measurements indicated that it was stable.

The collective could not feel such base emotions as fear, or even trepidation. Nevertheless, as the vessel entered the subspace corridor that it had created, for a bare fraction of a second the collective came closer than it had ever come to those emotions before. Not that it feared for its own part, its loss would, in and of itself, mean nothing. However, never before had such an experiment been so vital to the future of the collective.

The transit took mere minutes.

On emergence, the collective probed outward. It quickly located the Federation starship U.S.S. Enterprise, registry NCC-1701-D. It was damaged, engines inoperative.

Locating the small module that had controlled the Weapon took only moments longer. It was headed for the larger starship at impulse speed. It would be overtaken quickly.

It was a source of amazement (as much amazement as the Borg collective could feel) that such a small, insignificant and, seemingly, primitive vessel could wield such a powerful weapon.

A tractor beam was locked onto the small craft. A call for surrender was sent out on standard frequencies.

"We are the Borg. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated."

The only reply was a defiant, "Assimilate this!" Sensors indicated that the Weapon was being powered up. This could not be allowed. The pilot, a member of the Federation's primary species, was teleported aboard the Borg vessel.

This seemed to abort the firing sequence; power levels returned to normal. The Borg tractored the vessel aboard. It would need to be studied in detail if the pilot did not possess knowledge of how the Weapon operated.

The pilot was resisting.

"Resistance is futile."

The warning did not stop him from trying. Throwing one drone back and over a railing to plunge to death, the pilot tried to run away from the others.

It was to no avail, he was near the center of the vessel, surrounded by thousands of drones. Resistance was futile.

One drone held him while another injected him with assimilation nanites.

As the newly assimilated drone entered the collective, it gained access to all of the drone's knowledge from his previous life. The collective learned much, the drone had been important, no vital, in the creation of the Weapon. Without him there would not be another.

Yes, very important. He would serve the purpose for which another had been intended, he would be Locutus.

Basic assimilation of the drone complete it was time to proceed to the next step.

The starship was still there, just moments away. Sensor readings indicated that its long range communications were still intact. Time to issue a surrender demand. Time for Locutus to fulfill his role.

Communications were opened, "I am Locutus of Borg. Resistance is futile. Your life as it has been is over. From this time forward ... you will service us." Then something unaccountable happened, the drone added, "Have a nice day."

This was deeply troubling. The words and the thought behind them had not come from the collective. Yet every indication confirmed that the drone had been fully assimilated. His brain tissue was fully permeated with nanites.

This could not be.

A small portion of the collective consciousness continued to work on this anomaly even as the greater whole focused on the next task; assimilation of the Federation's primary world.

---

The familiar starscape replaced the image of Locutus on the main view screen as communications were cut off.

A chill had gone through Picard when he realized what had happened to Crichton. He knew that that should have been him that was assimilated.

"Have a nice day?" Riker sounded puzzled. Come to think of it, that last bit had been a little strange.

"A bit unusual for the Borg," Picard agreed.

"You don't suppose they also assimilated Crichton's flair for theatrics?"

"We've got to go over there and save him." Picard had not gotten to know Chiana much. Now she stood, rather defiantly, in front of him, demanding he _do something_. And he wanted to; god knew Crichton deserved all the help they could give him.

"They are already gone. We have no engines, we can't follow them." Picard felt sick to his stomach at the admission. They should be able to _do something_. He deserved better.

_I should have been the one taken_.

"Mister LaForge," Picard called for his chief engineer.

"Right here, sir," LaForge answered, coming out of one of the turbolifts at that exact moment.

"When can we get the Warp engines online again?"

"Not for several more days, sir."

"We don't have that long, we need them now."

"Sir, I might be able to jury-rig something that gives us warp one, maybe warp two in about twenty hours if I put all my people on it. That's the absolute best I can do. I'm sorry Captain, but she really took a beating. We'll be lucky if we can get to the nearest repair yard without getting a tow."

"I see. Carry on." Turning back to Chiana Picard steeled himself. "I really _am_ sorry. But we can't do anything. I wish it were otherwise."

No sooner had he admitted defeat then Major Carter turned things on their head. "Actually, I may have an idea."

Suddenly all eyes were on Carter.

"You think you can get our engines working?" That didn't sound plausible.

"No, but I have a plan for getting us onboard that Borg ship."

"Explain."

"Wormholes," she said, as if that explained everything. "Look, the device on Crichton's module can work as a stabilizer for an incoming wormhole, it's a part of its basic function. All we have to do is create a wormhole here and target it at roughly where the Borg will be."

"So we'll just step through?"

"Not exactly, we'll have to transport through, using your transporters. That way we can transport almost directly to where John is."

"Sir, sending a team on such a hazardous mission, after one man," Riker began to object. Picard knew that Riker's heart wasn't in it though, he was only doing his job.

"We'll go," O'Neill forestalled the pointless argument.

"Are you sure, Colonel?" Picard asked.

"It's what we do. Besides he's our ticket home," O'Neill explained. O'Neill then turned and quietly asked Carter, "It _will_ work, right?"

"If they haven't destroyed the device. If they have, we aren't going anywhere."

"All right, mister Data will assist you in setting things up. The Borg will reach Earth in," Picard looked to Data for the specific time.

"Approximately eleven hours, twenty-two minutes."

"So you'd better be on your way before then."

"And me," Chiana suddenly spoke up.

Picard briefly thought about arguing the point. SG-1 were a military unit. He trusted O'Neill judgment, if he wanted to do this, then Picard would back him. But Chiana was anything but military. On the other hand, she had as much cause to go as SG-1. Rather than argue Picard looked to O'Neill, let him decide.

All he got in answer was a shrug. Then inspiration seemed to strike the good Colonel.

"Bomb."

"Excuse me," Picard didn't quite follow.

"If we can gate, or whatever you call it, onto the Borg ship... cube... whatever. Why don't we just send a bomb through?"

"We do not have an explosive device capable of destroying an entire Borg cube," Data offered. "Even if we transported all the anti-matter in the ships reactor, it would only destroy about a third of the cube."

"And we can't transport anti-matter. The moment we lower the containment field to initiate transport it would blow up," Picard added.

"What about building an old fashioned nuclear bomb? You got them replicate thingies"

"Interesting," Data considered the possibility. "We cannot directly replicate weapons grade plutonium. However, we could replicate a lesser isotope and purify it. With it we could construct a fusion bomb quite easily. There would of course be a significant radiation hazard."

"Cut to the chase, can you make a bomb big enough in, say, eight hours?"

Data thought it over for a moment. "Assuming the full resources available on the ship are diverted, it might be possible to construct a thermonuclear device capable of destroying a fifth of the Borg cube."

"That would certainly give them a bloody nose before they reached Earth," Riker liked the idea. "It would give the fleet a fighting chance."

O'Neill however seemed unimpressed. "Carter?"

"Yes, sir?"

"How much naquadah did we get on PX whatever?"

Carter smiled as she replied, "About nine pounds."

"And that would increase the power of mister Data's bomb how much?" O'Neill seemed to be relishing a private joke.

"About tenfold, sir."

---

"John." The voice came out of the ether. Disembodied. Unrelated to reality. Just like John's consciousness.

"John, wake up." It seemed vaguely familiar.

"John, you must wake up." There were flickering lights all around.

"That's it, focus!" No, the lights were not flickering, they were passing by. John was moving along a corridor of some sort.

"John, we don't have all day, you must wake up!" He was in a wheelchair. Every movement required an extreme act of willpower. Slowly John raised his head up to look at the person driving the chair.

It was Scorpious!

The shock managed to jolt John out of the wheelchair.

"Good, you are almost there, John." That wasn't Scorpious, John realized. It was Harvey. This wasn't real, they were inside his mind.

John forced himself to stand up from where he had fallen out of the, now gone, wheelchair. As he rose, the hospital corridor shifted and became featureless.

"What happened?" John asked groggily.

"You were assimilated by the Borg."

"What?" John demanded. In answer the view around him shifted again. They were inside a Borg cube. In front of them was John Crichton's defiant stand against the Borg. The memory replay froze when the nanite injector tubes locked onto his neck.

"I'm a Borg?" John couldn't believe it.

"Yes, John," Harvey agreed. "Fortunately, you have me."

John looked at him sharply.

"That's right; the nanites did not penetrate the implant in your head. I remain free. It was difficult to free up enough of your mind to be able to communicate in this manner. I may have alerted the Borg to my presence, but there was no choice. We must escape."

Again, they shared a goal.

"How?"

"I'm not sure," Harvey conceded. "I was designed to penetrate hostile minds, gain knowledge and control. You proved a most difficult challenge. Subverting the Borg hive mind is no different. Just more complex. If we work together we may yet survive."

They were in another part of the Borg ship now. In the regeneration alcove directly in front of him is his physical body.

"Wait, why am I still wearing my own clothes?" John was a bit confused. Usually the Borg did not wear snappy Peacekeeper leather outfits.

"I've managed to slow down your assimilation," Harvey explained. "The facial implant is the only significant one that you have."

"I'm not exactly fitting in here, aren't they going to notice?"

"This hive mind is a most curious thing. Details tend to elude it. Unless something draws its attentions to it, your lack of proper attire will go unnoticed."

"Can I move?" John asked nervously. Would he be in any control over his own body? This was an old nightmare, with new players.

"Not yet, soon."

---

"You were _where_? You did _what_? You fought the _who_?" Hammond's expression would have been comical if it hadn't been directed at O'Neill himself.

"Ah, Star Trek and fought the Borg, sir." O'Neill replied levelly. Why wasn't Carter here? She was the one who should be explaining this.

"The Borg?" Hammond exclaimed, "Jack are you absolutely sure that that's what you want to put in your report?"

"It's what happened," O'Neill insisted. When Hammond just stared at him, O'Neill decided to tack on a respectful, "sir," to his reply.

"Jack, you can't expect me to believe that."

"General, it's what happened."

"You were on a TV show, you really believe that?"

"No, not a TV show, a world just _like_ a TV show!" Couldn't Hammond see the difference.

"I'm sorry to have to do this Jack," Hammond said calmly as he give a signal to the people behind O'Neill. Before he knew what was happening they had him in a straightjacket and where hauling him out of Hammond's office.

O'Neill wasn't going quietly. He twisted and turned, trying to free himself, but the straightjacket held him securely. He could not move. And then there was the sound. What was that infernal bleeping sound? It was getting louder and louder and...

The sound of the door chime woke O'Neill up.

"Come in," he said grumpily while untangling himself from the jacket that he'd thrown over himself before dozing off.

It was Picard. O'Neill felt a bit silly having taken a nap at a time like this. However, once everyone got down to doing whatever he or she needed to do, there hadn't been anything much for him to do. A nap had seemed in order.

"Sorry if I woke you up, Colonel."

"Time to get up anyway, Captain." Jack looked at his watch as if to confirm that and realized that the beeping that woke him up had not just been the door. The alarm on his wristwatch had also gone off. It was, in fact, time to get up.

"I wanted to have a word with you before," Picard began.

"Before you beam is over to Borg central," O'Neill quipped. "Never mind, I'm haven't had my coffee yet." It wasn't Picard's fault, O'Neill knew. He'd volunteered. They had to get this Crichton fellow back, or they were screwed. Carter and Jonas might be able to make a life for themselves here, but O'Neill knew that he would never fit in and neither would Teal'c.

"Earl Grey?" O'Neill asked as he went to the replicator to get himself some coffee.

"Yes, thank you," Picard accepted.

"Coffee, black and tea, Earl Grey, hot," O'Neill ordered. "I've always wanted to say that." The last bit was muttered so Picard didn't hear it.

"It's never easy," Picard said as O'Neill handed him his tea.

"Going into a battle you know you probably won't win, or sending people into one?"

"Either," Picard replied somberly as he took a sip of his tea.

"It's what we do."

Picard merely nodded. He understood. Despite the whole Star Trek rhetoric about Starfleet not being a 'military' establishment, Picard was a soldier. They both knew the score. They stood there quietly for a few moments, drinking their coffee and tea. Finally Picard broke the silence.

"Would you like some help?"

O'Neill was not particularly surprised. The crew of the Enterprise was noted for doing _the right thing_. It was almost inevitable that they would come along.

Doing a fair impression of Teal'c, O'Neill's only response was an eyebrow slightly raised in question.

"Worf has requested the he be allowed to join your team, as has Shelby. Data has also stated his willingness to go. Having someone who is immune from assimilation may prove vital."

"Glad to have them," O'Neill assured Picard. He meant it too. At best any chance of success was slim.

O'Neill finished off his coffee in one last gulp, the caffeine was kicking in.

"Time to go kick some Borg asses."

---

Sam was enjoying herself. Not that she would ever admit that, but finally being in the driver's seat, making the plan work, was more to her liking.

She had done her best, working with Crichton, and she knew that without her help the weapon would never have been completed in time. She was also aware that she had learned more about wormhole physics (or physics in general for that matter) in the few days she had been working with him then in all her years at the SGC. And that was really saying something.

Additionally, the crew of the Enterprise was so much in awe of the revolutionary wormhole tech that they were working on that no one tried to limit their access to any other Federation technology. In short, Sam had acquired knowledge of more 'alien' technology on this mission alone then the entire efforts of the SGC had for the past six years. If they ever got home, it would make all the difference.

_If_ they ever got home. That brought her back down to Earth, so to speak. She had finished making her mini wormhole thingy, as she was sure Colonel O'Neill would call it. Right now she was in Transporter Room 1, doing last minute calibrations while the team assembled.

Making a device that opens wormholes had turned out to be surprisingly easy. Well, at least once you knew how. Much of the Stargate's complexity lay in its matter de- and re-materialization. That and its targeting system.

She had only had to deal with the targeting, and with John Crichton's much more advanced device serving as a homing beacon, it had been a piece of cake. Her wormhole generator would open a very small wormhole, focusing the other end at roughly where the Borg cube should be. If it opened up close enough to the one in Farscape 1, the wormhole terminus would be immediately drawn to a close proximity with it. In other words, the other end would be inside the Borg ship.

More importantly, or at least _as_ importantly, it would be so small that the Borg would likely ignore it.

Of course, all of this would be for nothing if the Borg had dismantled Farscape 1.

"Carter, whenever you're ready," O'Neill prompted her. The team was assembled and ready to go.

"Almost there, sir." Indeed, there it was, just off the Enterprises starboard bow. "Chief," Sam turned to O'Brien, "try to scan through it."

"You did it Major," O'Brien confirmed. "I'm reading the Borg ship. Locking transporter coordinates on the origin of Crichton's last message.

"Are we all ready then?" O'Neill asked rhetorically.

"Today is a good day to die," Worf quickly replied, apparently not getting the rhetorical bit.

"I don't know," O'Neill shot back, "I've seen better."

Behind O'Neill, Sam saw Teal'c whispering something to Data. Data looked confused, but gamely stated, if a little uncertainly, "Lock and load."

"Enough with the clichés already," O'Neill replied as everyone on the away team gathered up on the transporter pad.

"Chief, beam us up, or down or whatever," O'Neill ordered. Then just as they were about to dematerialize he added, "Carter, you are _sure_ that this going to work, right?"

---

"Bridge, this is transporter room 1. The away team has successfully transported aboard the Borg ship." O'Brien dutifully reported.

"Understood." Came the curt reply and the communicator clicked off.

"Good luck," O'Brien whispered a belated farewell to the away team. "You'll need it."

---

Today was a glorious day, of that Worf had no doubt. His Klingon blood cried out for battle. The earlier ambush of the first Borg vessel had left a sour taste with his Klingon sense of honor. This was better, a straight fight. They would be outnumbered, yes, if it came to a fight they would most likely not prevail. For all that, this was what a warrior dreamed of, a glorious battle. He almost wished he had brought a Batleth instead of his phaser rifle.

They had materialized in the right place but there was no immediate sign of Crichton. As expected the Borg were ignoring them.

"Enterprise to away team, do you read?" Picard's voice came clearly over the comms.

"Yeah, we're here," O'Neill replied.

"Admiral Hanson has informed us that the Borg vessel will be in range to engage the fleet in twenty-two minutes, at that point we will have no choice but to send through and activate the bomb."

"Understood, SG-1 out."

Worf had quickly realized that Colonel O'Neill was an experienced warrior, as was the Jaffa, Teal'c. He had been a bit skeptical about the other members of SG-1. Major Carter's scientific prowess was of course beyond question, but she had not carried herself much as a warrior. Teal'c had however assured him that she was more than capable, describing her as a formidable warrior also. Worf knew that he should have known better then to judge a human, male or female, so quickly based on appearances. There was no doubt that SG-1 was a well-oiled machine, used to danger.

As for the other two Starfleet officers, Worf had come to respect Data's prowess and resourcefulness. Shelby was more of an unknown; she had little combat experience, especially hand to hand. She was however the Federation's leading expert on the Borg, which counted strongly in her favor.

That left the last, and perhaps most unusual member of the away team. Chiana. Worf didn't quite know what to make of her. On the one had she carried herself with great poise and could be extremely aggressive. While he had been extremely uncomfortable with her advances, the discomfort came, at least partly, from the fact that her bold and very direct manner was so much like that of Klingon women. He had been almost tempted to give in when she had suddenly stopped. Now he was unsure if he should be happy or upset at the development.

In any case, there had been no leaving her behind. The mere suggestion had caused some damage to certain decorative items. Actually trying to bar her from going would almost certainly have resulted in casualties.

Perhaps that was a good enough recommendation. She was both determined and resourceful, after all.

"I am reading a human life sign in this direction," Data reported.

"Crichton?"

"As far as we know, Commander Crichton is the only human to have been assimilated by the Borg. I would say that the probability is very high."

"Teal'c, you take point," O'Neill ordered. "Data you're second, tell Teal'c which way. Worf, bring up the rear. Let's get moving people."

Worf understood the importance of securing their rear and did not mind the duty. The Borg however continued to ignore them as the progressed further into the immense vessel.

"I never realized just how _big_ these things were," Major Carter exclaimed at one point. "It never looked this big on TV."

"I guess real life Borgs aren't limited to a TV budget."

Worf ignored the byplay for the most part. He was still having trouble with the idea that his life over the last three years was the subject of an entertainment program in at least two other realities. On the face of it, it just seemed absurd.

"O'Neill," Teal'c suddenly called. Everyone looked forward, to where he was now pointing.

"John!" Chiana exclaimed.

He was in one of those regeneration alcoves and was still wearing his regular clothes, the only visible Borg implant being the one in his head. Suddenly he woke up, half lurched, half jumped out of the alcove and into the corridor.

"Whoa, I take it this is the cavalry," he greeted them before anyone could say a word.

"John," Chiana brushed her way forward. "They said you'd been assimilated. That you weren't yourself anymore."

John gave fake smile as he replied, "I disagreed with something that ate me."

"You? You are you?" Shelby asked the question everyone was thinking.

"Ain't it a kicker? How's about we get out of here before..." Crichton was cut off by an energy beam of some sort that exploded as it impacted the wall just above their heads.

"Too late, we got company!"

Worf whirled around to cover their rear again. The Borg were advancing on them in single file. He shot the first one and as he went down Worf again thought, what a glorious day to die. And there was no way that the Borg would assimilate _him_.

Behind him the team was taking up defensive positions and returning fire. Chiana throw John, who had been initially unarmed a weapon of some sort.

"Wynona!" John exclaimed, then after letting off a few shots at the Borg drones he added, "You had her fixed."

---

"Hello John," Harvey cordially greeted John.

"Harvey, we don't have time for this!" John replied rather angrily, while taking in the featureless white void the two now inhabited. "What is this place anyway?"

"A refuge if you will. An area where we can prepare without the Borg noticing us."

"Maybe you haven't noticed but we are in the middle of a gun fight. I don't have time for this. I need to be out there!" John emphasized the last bit by angrily pointing out into the distance.

How typical, Harvey mused. Always in a hurry, never paying quite the proper attention to details.

"But you are out there John." That got his attention. "Or rather John Crichton is out there, _you_ are not John Crichton."

That certainly got his attention. Harvey watched on, with some amusement, as John digested this.

"You are no more John Crichton then I am Scorpious." Driving home the point.

"You made a frelling neural _clone_ of me!" John was his usual agitated self. "You can't do that, can you?"

"Not normally. But these aren't normal circumstances John. We have been assimilated by the Borg. The only hope of getting the real John Crichton off this _cube_," Harvey spat out the word 'cube,' "is to fight them on both fronts!"

Harvey took a moment to let it sink in. "Much as it pains me to admit it John, I can't do it alone. I need your help."

"Hey, you are mister Brain Parasite. What the frell could I do?"

"Don't underestimate yourself John."

"I don't know the first thing about hacking into brains or whatever."

"On the contrary, you know a great deal. Otherwise, I would have completed me work while you still sat in the Aurora chair.

"John, the Borg aren't a computer, the hive mind is exactly that, a _mind_. It's composed of thousands of soft, organic, corruptible brains."

"What's you point Harvey?"

"It is all a matter of perspective and determination. If you believe you can do something, then you _can_ do it."

"If that's true, how the frell do the assimilate anyone?"

"The nanites. They suppress the conscious mind. Make it _want_ to be a part of the collective. However, they cannot assimilate artificial minds, like my own.

"Do you understand now?"

"So when we go out there..." John trailed off, realizing the nature of the situation.

"Yes, John." Harvey knew that John was finally on board. "The only question now," Harvey continued, changing his usual leather outfit, for one with a more appropriate cut and putting on a pair of shades, "is what do we need?"

John smiled at the obvious pop culture reference. Adjusting his own clothes similarly, he took one step closer to Scorpious as he donned his own sunglasses. "Guns, lots of guns."

---

"Enterprise, now would be a _really_ good time to beam us the hell out of here!" O'Neill shouted into his communicator.

John felt a little dizzy for a moment, almost like when Harvey took him 'inside,' but quickly shrugged it off and kept shooting at the Borg. They hadn't adapted to their weapons, yet.

"Away team," Picard's voice came over the comms, "the Borg have put up transport inhibitors. We are unable to transport you off the ship."

"Let me guess," O'Neill replied. "But, you can still send the bomb through."

"That is correct. Our sensors indicate that you will have to get three hundred meters closer to the wormhole before we can get a lock on you."

"Understood," O'Neill ended the conversation. "Data, how long?"

"The Borg vessel will engage the Federation fleet in eighteen minutes, twenty-three seconds."

"So what's the plan?" Crichton asked.

"We head three hundred meters," O'Neill paused to both fire off a few rounds at the advancing Borg and get the correct direction from Data, "that way."

"So, we're just going to _walk_ out of here!" Crichton had gotten used to bad plans, but this was a bad even by his standard. "Wile E. Coyote could come up with a better plan."

"At least it does not involve dropping anvils from precariously high places," Teal'c replied even has he began backing up with the group headed back the way it had come, preceded by furious phaser fire from Worf.

John was momentarily stunned by the riposte from Teal'c. When Chiana nudged him to keep shooting, he muttered to himself, "I'm just not used to people knowing what the hell I'm talking about anymore."

For several minutes the group fought their way in the general direction they needed to go, while the Borg reluctantly gave way and also pursued them determinately from the rear. Intersections proved to be especially dangerous, as the Borg would get them in a crossfire.

"Why aren't they adapting to our weapons?" Shelby finally asked what everyone had begun wondering about.

"Perhaps the modifications we made to them were more successful then we had anticipated," Data speculated.

"Or maybe these Borg aren't as good at it as the TV ones," O'Neill offered. "Who cares, as long as they keep on not adapting!"

John heard the words, but didn't really listen. As he fired round after round into the Borgs chasing them, he, at some level, knew why the Borg weren't adapting.

---

"Ready Junior?" They were standing in front of an immense door that was the only feature in the white void. Each carried more hardware than an average Home Depot, much more lethal hardware to boot.

"Junior?" John shot back.

"If I'm _Harvey_, then you are Junior," Harvey calmly replied.

"Junior!" John wasn't at all happy with it. On the other hand, _he_ wasn't _John_. This was frustrating as hell.

"Whatever, let's just kick down this door and shoot us some Borg."

"Remember, Junior, you can do anything that you believe you can, but so can the collective. It is a matter of will."

"Will you just get on with it."

John, no scratch that, _Junior._ drew a matching pair of Uzis as Harvey expertly kicked the door into the collective open.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

"Tron! What, has the Borg collective been watching Disney?" The angular terrain that spread out before them was like something out of an eighties video game. Grids and lines.

"No Junior, but you have. Your mind is making most of this up. The exact nature of the representation does not matter. Only your influence on it. Stay focused."

Everywhere they looked, drones were hurrying around, exchanging items, fitting them here and there. Seemingly without purpose.

"They are coordinating against the intruders, adapting, making plans. We must stop them."

Rather than reply, Junior. emptied both Uzis at the nearest group of drones.

"You mean like that?"

"Violence always was your strong suit."

"Frell you."

A group of drones was advancing on them, a bit uncertainly. This situation was confusing them.

"Let's do this thing."

The two split, each firing at the advancing Borg. Shaping the environment to their will, they were able to create a corridor with multiple obstacles. This forced the Borg to advance on them from a single direction and provided cover. Anchored to the implant in John's mind, the two neural clones held every advantage, one on one. In a blitz of gunfire, where the two moved with speed that the drones could never hope to match the duo severely disrupted the collectives efforts.

Unbeknownst to them, the collective began to adapt to the intrusion, slowly, but surely, isolating the area of intrusion.

---

In retrospect, O'Neill had always known that it would end like this. That he would die in battle. There was even a time when he would have welcomed it. Of course, not in his wildest dreams or most outrageous fever induced hallucinations had he thought it would be _quite_ like this. Especially not the Borg.

"How much time?" He asked no one in particular as he reloaded his P-90.

"Three minutes," Carter replied as she also stopped to reload.

O'Neill shot the two drones that were the most immediate threat before asking the more critical question. "How far?"

"About fifty meters, Colonel," Data replied. He was the only member of the team that could operate a tricorder and his weapon at the same time. "We are approaching a sizable chamber, we will need to cross it."

That did not sound good. The Borg would be all around them.

"Alright, people. We are running out of time. Move!" He shouted while taking the lead. Running at the drones head on wasn't the best strategy in the world, but it looked good enough. The narrow confines of the corridor made for easy targets and in this instance, if you weren't going to make it in time, you might as well not bother.

They broke into the chamber in under a minute, but there things got difficult. Throwing several grenades into it to give them a chance, he laid out the plan. "Form into a circle, keep advancing and don't worry about the ammo!"

He stayed on point, firing a full clip into the horde of drones in front of them in mere seconds, and then letting Worf hold them off while he reloaded.

This way they made it almost halfway into the chamber when all of a sudden his bullets were harmlessly deflected by the drones' shields. In two seconds they had adapted to all their weapons.

They were stuck. O'Neill gave the signal for ceasefire.

"Enterprise."

"Your status?"

"We're not going to make it."

"You still have a little time."

"Doesn't matter. We're screwed."

"We'll..." Picard began.

"Don't be stupid. Send the bomb through while you can. We're done for."

The comms were silent for what seemed an awful long time.

"Away team. The bomb is through. It will detonate in one minute." Again silence. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, we knew what we were signing up for."

The comms clicked off. Looking back at his team, O'Neill was about to say a last farewell when he saw someone that he recognized coming through the drone throng.

"Hey, isn't that the Borg Queen?"


	4. We're so screwed

**Chapter 4: We're so screwed **

"A bomb?" John asked, "Whose bright idea was that?" Then the world went black.

And white.

The music was all John needed to recognize where he was. The marching band style music, with only hums for vocals, evoked at once a sense of impending doom, an image of a resolute march to futility and, strangely enough, a feeling of patriotism.

"Dr. Strangelove!" John exclaimed as he took in the black and white interior of a fifties bomber.

"Or, how I learned to stop worrying," Harvey continued as he climbed up the stairs from the lower deck, dressed in a flight suit instead of his usual leather.

"And _love_ that bomb!" A voice from behind John completed the title.

Whirling around John was confronted by, well, himself. This being a rather infrequent occurrence, albeit not entirely without precedence, John needed a few moments to compose himself.

Last time he had met himself, so to speak, there had actually been two other of him, but both had differed significantly. This John looked just like him, sounded just like him, except for the really bad Texas accent that he'd used.

The accent was accompanied by a cowboy hat in place of the flight helmet that should rightly go with the flight suit he was wearing.

"What?" Was about as much as John could articulate.

"John," Harvey moved past John as he made the introduction, "Meet Junior."

"What?"

"I really am brighter than this, most of the time," _Junior_ said, somewhat apologetically, to Harvey.

"You are not me!" At least John was fairly certain of that. Maybe not a hundred percent, but at least _reasonably_ sure.

"Wake up and smell the coffee, I'm neural clone, like this freak," Junior replied, hooking a finger in Harvey's direction.

"No need for insults," Harvey chided him.

"What?"

"So we're back to that, are we?" Harvey almost smirked.

"Listen, you know all this stuff," Junior said, moving closer. "Ever since we pulled you in here my memory has been integrating with yours. Think, remember!"

And there it was. Everything that the neural clone of him had done and experienced in the short time since they made a run for it. Almost like he'd done it himself. Almost.

The memories also included one more tidbit. About the bomb, sitting quietly next to his module, the seconds ticking slowly away.

"So, that's it? We're done for?" John demanded. If he was about to die, he could do without looking at Scorpious' ugly face.

"No John," Harvey seemed completely calm, as always. "At least, not because of the bomb."

Of course not. They had sent it through with a one minute fuse. Long enough for the Borg to adapt.

John dug through his neural clones memories. The Borg had not found a way to disarm or transport the bomb off the vessel. However, they had realized its awesome destructive potential and had diverted most of their power, almost instantly, to containment fields inside the ship.

"So what? The Borg get to kill us instead?" John had had enough. The past two years had been one disaster after another. Who cared if they would die a minute sooner or later? They were surrounded by frelling Borg! John recalled, fondly, a time when the mere thought of such an end would have been ridiculous.

"I think the Borg will be a little too preoccupied for that." The smirk on Harvey's face was an almost irresistible target for John's fist.

"Look, the sky," Junior interrupted John's homicidal train of thought, pointing out the front window of the bomber. The bleak landscape had been replaced with the vast hull of the Borg cube, in color. And in place of the overcast sky, there were now only stars. John moved up front to get a closer view. The stars were the cold hard pinpoints of light you would expect to see in space. Except that some were moving strangely.

"It's full of stars..." What did this mean?

"And every star," Harvey began.

"Is a ship shooting right at us!" Junior finished Harvey's sentence. Just how close had the two become?

"All I hear from you is different ways to get _killed_," John said, almost resignedly.

"The Borg cube is doomed, this is true, but it will take a bit of time."

"Remember First Contact?" Junior asked with a wicked grin. A grin John slowly mirrored as he realized where this was going.

"They'll use that escape thingy, but how do we get aboard?"

"That, John, is easy," Harvey began. Turning to look at him, John saw that he was now dressed in drag, with a gaudy tiara perched precariously on his head. "Just follow the queen."

---

So, this is it. O'Neill reflected as the Borg Queen approached. He idly wondered which would get them first, the Borg or the bomb.

Looking back, he quickly surveyed his last command. The Starfleet officers where all calm. Data, of course, couldn't be any other way and Worf was at least as stoic as Teal'c. There was a look of disbelief on Shelby's face. This couldn't be happening. O'Neill sympathized. This _shouldn't_ be happening.

Crichton seemed to have spaced out and his friend, Chiana was nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other, as if she was getting ready to take on every last Borg singlehandedly.

Looking at his own team, he saw them looking back. A look in their eyes showing confidence in him. They had been in tough spots before, he would get them out of this one as well. Except this time there was no way out. He'd let them down and they wouldn't really understand that until the very end. Except Teal'c, locking eyes with him, O'Neill saw the he realized the truth. A silent communication passed between them. A last farewell between fellow soldiers.

The deck under his feet heaved, throwing everyone off their feet. This is it, O'Neill thought. Seconds passed but nothing more happened.

"Shouldn't we be dead?" O'Neill asked, somewhat rhetorically as he pulled himself back up.

The explosion had also thrown most of the Borg down; they were now hurriedly extracting the queen and trying to get her out of there.

"They adapted!" Crichton answered O'Neill, as he himself quickly got up. "The bomb did a lot of damage but not enough. So if we don't want the fleet to finish what that bomb started, we must get to safety."

"Safety? Where?" Carter asked, puzzled.

John pointed in the direction of the retreating queen. "Where do you think they are taking her highness?"

"You want to us to _follow_ the Borg queen to safety?" O'Neill demanded.

Crichton merely nodded in response as he helped Worf up.

"And you thought _my_ plan was bad!"

"Let's go," Crichton took the lead, heading after the Borg queen. It might be a desperate plan, but at least it was a plan. They all followed. The Borg seemed to have gone back to ignoring them.

---

"You think it'll work?" Junior broke the silence that had descended on the two neural clones after they gave John a pep talk.

"We both know that it is a long shot, at best," Harvey replied cautiously. They were walking along a dimly lit utility corridor, a mental image to enable Junior to move inside the Borg collective. Harvey was however beginning to suspect that Junior was far more capable then the need for such simulations would indicate. Indeed, the corridor had become increasingly less detailed, more ephemeral, transient.

"You know, I never got the whole Borg queen thing." Junior had clearly had enough silence. "I mean, one minute the Borg are this big hive mind and then all of a sudden there is this _person_! It felt like a copout by the writers. Oooh we need a more conventional villain."

Harvey listened to the tirade, he know Junior was most likely just talking to cover his nervousness. After all, what they were going to have to do was not exactly a walk in the park.

"In a way it actually makes a great deal of sense." Harvey decided to keep Junior's thoughts focused on trivia.

"How do you figure?"

"The conscious mind is, in fact, composed of many parts."

"You're not going to drag ol' Freud into this, are you?"

"Think about it, the drones are like the Id. Mindless, all about needs, wants, primal."

"A bit like your boss," Junior shot back.

Harvey favored him with a rebuking look before replying. "Hardly, the Borg are driven by a base need. Scorpious' motives are far more complex."

"So it's all about sex for them? Now _that's_ not a pretty picture."

"Not entirely. While the Id of most intelligents will be focused on reproduction, in the Borg's case it is a need to assimilate."

"So, you figure the queen is like an Ego?"

"Quite. She, and her counterparts on other vessels, gives them meaning, focus, direction. The queen is the Borg's conscious sense of self."

"I thought the Ego was also supposed to do with morals and stuff."

"Morals are subject to perspective. The Borg do not believe that their actions are wrong."

"Wait, what about the superego?"

Harvey favored Junior with a fatherly smile. "These are vague approximations at best."

"That's a copout if I've ever heard one."

"Perhaps you should have paid closer attention during that Psychology class you took in college."

"Yeah," Junior replied absently, his mind drifting back down memory lane, "I seem to recall being a bit distracted."

The two neural clones pause and lock eyes for a moment.

"Brandy Williamson," they both broke the silence.

Satisfied that Junior's attention is now firmly diverted from their upcoming task, Harvey continues down the grey tunnel.

"You never did have the courage to ask her out."

"She was a cheerleader and I was a geek back then."

"Indeed."

"I got better," Junior replied defensively.

"We're here," Harvey suddenly announced. The grey tunnel ended at an obsidian wall. Completely featureless, the slick blackness was utterly impenetrable. Not even Harvey could sense the other side.

---

Shelby had gone past feeling irritated at being pushed aside in the fight against the Borg. She had also gone past any feeling of excitement at the prospect of facing them. Apprehension, fear, all past. Surprise, wonder, also well behind her. Awe, stark terror, well maybe not completely past that just yet, but mostly she was just emotionally drained. All that remained was a detached academic curiosity and a distant part of her mind lamenting the fact that she would never make Captain now.

Funny that that should matter more than survival.

On the bright side she would die in the line of duty. Doing something _incredibly_ stupid. Why the hell had she volunteered for this mission?

Ego, she knew, was the answer.

At least the Borg were back to ignoring them. Those few minutes trying to fight their way through the Borg cube had seemed like an eternity. Shelby couldn't remember having ever been that afraid. She was just grateful that she hadn't frozen. There was some satisfaction in knowing that when push had come to shove, she'd stood her ground.

Not that it was going to matter. Crichton seemed to think they still had a chance, but running _after_ the Borg queen didn't seem like the best course of action. On the other hand the wormhole device had been destroyed in blast and this entire vessel was about to follow. She'd underestimated Crichton before, perhaps there was a chance. At least everyone was following him. He was their only hope.

"Move!" John roared from the front. Looking ahead down the massive corridor Shelby saw what could only be a blast proof door. A blast proof door that was slowly closing on the heels of the Borg queen.

The group broke into a dead run, desperate to get through before the door closed on their only hope. As they dashed down the corridor, gentle, then not so gentle vibrations ran through the ship. The effects of the Fleet's attack were being felt even here, deep inside the Borg cube.

Data quickly outpaced the rest of the group and was the first to reach the doors. Placing himself in the frame, he braced to hold them open. At first his efforts seemed in vain, but then the doors halted for the few seconds needed for the rest of the group to catch up and dash inside. As soon as everyone was through, Data released the doors and threw himself inside.

"Nice," O'Neill said, apparently to Data.

"That's it, we're inside," Crichton declared after taking a quick look around.

"Inside what?" Shelby wasn't sure that she cared.

"The thing they used to escape and travel back in time in First Contact," Crichton quietly informed her.

"Time travel!" Shelby exclaimed. That was against Starfleet regulations. You did not tamper with the time line. Or allowed the Borg to do so. "We can't let them do that."

"We are not letting them do anything," Crichton calmly explained. "We are just hitching a ride."

"We have to stop them, there is no telling how badly they could affect the timeline." Finally, Shelby's path was clear, it was her job to stop the Borg from rewriting history. _That_ was why she was here, not because her ego wouldn't accept the blows dealt to it. No, she was going to save the Federation after all.

Crichton was saying something. No doubt trying to calm her down. Save his own skin at the expense of the Federation. This could not be allowed.

"No," her voice was almost inaudible and she wasn't any too sure about what she was saying no to. She wandered a few meters away from the hatch, going deeper into the vessel. Her weapon went up, aiming at a power relay. It should be unshielded. This was a small vessel, not a cube; maybe knocking a few of these out would make enough of a difference.

She fired.

---

Amid all the confusion and excitement, Data nevertheless found ample time to reflect on how the absence of emotions separated him from his companions. The last half hour had been filled with excitement, danger, unexpected developments and death hovering at each footstep. Emotions were running high, adrenaline flooding, everyone was nearing the edge of their endurance. Except him.

"Listen," Crichton tried to explain his plan, "I've got a plan. It's a little tricky, but if we..." The sounds of an explosion drew everyone's attention.

A power relay was a smoking ruin. Next to it, Shelby barely had time to swing her phaser around to aim at the oncoming drones. She got off one shot that was harmlessly deflected before the drone reached her and attached assimilation tubes to her neck. The skin around the tubes quickly turned gray. The drones dropped her as she lost consciousness. She was now beyond help.

"Quickly, this way!" John shouted, motioning the group to run down a side passageway. They couldn't outrun the drones, they were too close.

"Go!" Data stated firmly, "I will hold them off."

There was a moment's hesitation in the group, broken when Colonel O'Neill shouted, "Move!"

Data turned to face the oncoming drones. The corridor was too narrow for them to advance more than two abreast. Idly he wondered how long he would be able to hold them off.

The first two died quickly, their necks broken with quick jabs. As the drones kept advancing on him, Data wondered what this would feel like. To kill. To know that you are about to die.

A drone hit him in the stomach, releasing an energy weapon of some sort. Data instantly fell unconscious.

---

"Damn it," John muttered to himself as he brought up the rear. The plan had been crazy enough to begin with. Now it didn't stand a chance of working. Not only were they unlikely to get off this vessel, they wouldn't be able to stop it from going back in time, with them onboard! Of course, they weren't likely to stay alive that long. "Damn it."

"You have another plan?" O'Neill moved to the back of the group to ask him.

"Yeah, run and hope that the red shirt rule holds." That got a brief, fleeting smile from O'Neill.

"That bad?"

"I can access some of their systems," John began to explain, glossing over the fact that _he_ couldn't access them, "if we can get to certain alcoves."

"We headed in the right direction?"

"No." The truth was that Harvey and Junior could access the transporters, but Shelby's actions had knocked out power to them. Until the Borg repaired them, they had to keep running. The plan had been simple. Have Harvey and Junior disrupt the vessel from travelling back in time long enough to beam off and have a Federation ship blow it to hell.

---

"What was that?" Junior asked.

"The transporters are offline." Harvey replied calmly. "It changes nothing. We must still go through."

"Let's do it." Junior was as defiant as his progenitor.

"After you."

Junior hurled himself at the obsidian wall, shoulder first. His will pitched against the Borg's. At the crucial moment, Harvey added his own to the balance, straining with every fiber of his consciousness to pierce the wall.

The sound was almost deafening as the wall shattered, splinters of it flying everywhere like shards of broken glass, only to evaporate into puffs of smoke. What waited for them inside was even more disconcerting than the sound.

"It's, it's like ..." Junior searched for words.

"It's madness." They had breached the inner sanctum of the Borg collective. Its centre, its purpose, its Ego, its Queen.

A smile came to Junior's lips. "Madness I can deal with."

Harvey rushed after him, into the maelstrom as they each tried to bend it to their wills.

---

Data regained consciousness. There was nothing slow or gradual about it, like there would be for an organic being. The transition was instant. Consulting his internal chronometer, he found that it had been corrupted by the energy discharge. Most of his systems were intact. Some memory files had been lost, those from his most recent experiences. Older memories were stored redundantly, this took time leading to a risk of short term memory less. Data had always been aware of the risk, but had never experienced it before now. It was quite disconcerting.

Data took stock of his surroundings. Most noticeable was the fact that he was restrained. Second, he seemed to be surrounded by Borg. This was somewhat consistent with his memory, he was supposed to go on an away mission to a Borg cube. The exact details of how and why were unclear. His memory rebuild was still incomplete.

"Data," a single voice spoke. Looking for its source, Data found a Borg, a woman, standing near him. "You are an interesting being."

"Who are you?" Seemed like the most appropriate response.

"I am the Borg."

"That is a contradiction, the Borg are..." Data trailed off as the Borg suddenly screamed in anguish and collapsed on the deck.

"No, they can't," she stammered as she dragged herself back upright and away.

"Is there a problem?" Data asked rhetorically.

The Borg in the room all seemed to have lost interest in him so Data began to test the strength of his restraints. He was being held by a force field and at first it seemed to be quite immovable, then suddenly it weakened severely. Enough to allow him to escape.

Striding over to the unusual female Borg, Data wondered what exactly was going on. She looked up and saw him coming. There was fear in her eyes. Data hadn't expected that in a Borg.

"You are too late." Data wondered what she meant by that. "We will destroy your past." Some things were beginning to come back to him. This _thing_ was the Borg queen. She was essential to them, if Crichton was to be believed. Data ended her existence. He briefly considered the morality of the situation, he had never taken a life except in self defense or the defense of others. But wasn't that what he was doing? Left alive, a Borg would inevitably try to continue to assimilate others.

---

The vessel shook, _hard_. John was thrown off his feet, as was everyone else, except Worf who managed to brace himself against a bulkhead.

A thought entered his mind, from Junior, the vessel was now somewhere in the past, they had been unable to stop that from happening. The transporters were however working and somehow the Borg queen was dead. With her dead the vessel was going to disintegrate in minutes.

Hurling himself towards a likely alcove nearby, John shouted for everyone to assemble near him. "It's time, we are leaving!"

"Where are we going?" O'Neill wanted to know.

"Down!" And with that the world dissolved into yellow specks.

---

Harvey surveyed the madness around him. They had been unable to prevent the Borg queen from sending the ship into the past. In fact, their very assault on her had triggered the action, sending them on their way before the Borg had planned. The vessel had managed to slip past the Federation ships and the Borg had intended to travel back in time once they reached Earth. They had reached Earth now, but _when_ was a much harder question.

John was already beaming down, Harvey felt the added distance to the neural chip, he felt stretched as the bandwidth was limited at this distance.

"We have to go."

"No," Junior was suddenly standing in front of him. The two squaring off amidst the chaos of a dying mind.

"If we don't get out of here before the ship explodes, we will die!"

"I know."

It all made sense now. Junior had indeed learned more than Harvey could have believed. He knew how to stop him. While their existence depended on what was in John's head, their consciousness was currently extended here. It flowed through the Borg equipment and minds. If that were destroyed, the chip in John's head would become inert, practically dead. Harvey knew that it would eventually reboot itself and a new neural clone like himself would begin the work again. But that would take months, years even. Now that John knew it existed, he would have it removed long before the new clone could make itself felt.

With an animal scream, Harvey lunged at Junior, venting all his hatred and fear at John's image. Junior stood firm, met Harvey's strength with his own. Locking eyes with his nemesis Harvey say the iron determination in Junior's eyes. He knew that he needed only last until the vessel exploded. He knew that he could do that and he knew that Harvey knew.

Harvey knew that he was dead. It was a strange feeling, a sense of failure mixed with relief.

---

Instinctively O'Neill patted himself down as soon as the world rematerialized. Just to make sure that everything was where it was supposed to be.

"Everyone all right?"

A murmur of _yeah's_ and _fine's_ came back. Everyone was alive, but exhausted.

"Where are we?" Seemed like the next order of business.

"Earth," John replied. His eyes were focused on something in the sky. Looking up, Jack couldn't see anything.

"I believe _when_ are we, is the more pertinent question." O'Neill whirled around to see Data approaching the group.

"Data! We thought we'd lost you," O'Neill greeted him jovially. Then realizing what Data had said, "what do you mean _when_?"

"The Borg were able to activate the time travel device. Apparently, they did not have full control over it."

An explosion in the night sky briefly illuminated their surroundings.

"It's over," John quietly proclaimed.

"The Borg ship?" Carter asked for clarification.

"Yes, no drones beamed off it."

"How can you be sure?"

John looked at her, something in his eyes persuaded everyone that further questions were ill advised. Well, almost everyone.

"John, you all right?" Chiana asked worriedly.

A faint smile came to his face. "Yeah, I think I am."

"Ok, anyone have a calendar?" O'Neill broke the tension around John.

"It's April third, eighteen eighty six."

As he turned around, O'Neill reflected on the fact that people had an annoying insistence on coming up behind him. This annoyance was replaced by some confusion as the identity of the speaker was revealed.

"Daniel?"

"Hi, Jack."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to help."

"Really? Because we could sure have used your help, _an hour ago_!"

"I thought you weren't allowed to interfere, Daniel?" Carter asked.

"Yeah, funny story that. Turns out it only applies to our ... universe, if you will."

"So, can you get us back or what?"

"Yeah, sorta. You see I can't affect what happens in that universe."

"I don't understand, can you help us or not?"

"No," Daniel said calmly, turning towards Crichton, "but he can and I can him help you."

---

The wormhole machine shut off with an audible pop. Picard hoped that O'Neill and his team had gotten home safely as he turned back to Crichton. "You ready?"

"Just a couple of secs."

Picard waited patiently while Crichton set the wormhole to open outside the Enterprise. He was going back in his module, unlike SG-1, which had been transported through.

"Got it."

"Very well, we'll activate it when you are ready."

"Thanks." There was a moments silence.

"I should thank you, for all you did for us." Picard had already thanked him, as had the Federation, but he felt it was worth repeating.

"I wish I could say it was a pleasure." Crichton gave a lopsided smile. "At least I got this chip out of my head."

"Take care."

As Picard walked to the bridge he reflected on the madness of the last few days. Visitors that thought this reality was a TV show, Borg invasion, an impossible mission that wound up stranding the away team in the 19th century. An ascended human from another reality that rescued them.

He had been surprised to learn of Crichton's implant and glad that Dr. Crusher had been able to remove it.

"Captain on the Bridge."

"Everything ready?" Picard asked as soon as he stepped off the turbolift.

"Yes sir, Farscape 1 just cleared the launch bay," Riker informed him. Crichton hadn't wasted any time.

"Very well, open the wormhole."

"Aye, aye sir."

As he watched the wormhole open on the main viewscreen Picard sent a last farewell.

" Enterprise to Farscape 1, god's speed."

The module plunged down the mouth of the wormhole, which moments later collapsed behind it.

---

Major General Hammond stood in the conference room at Stargate Command, staring down at the Stargate. SG-1 was by now three weeks overdue. They'd been on a mission to acquire some naquadah and by all accounts things had gone smoothly. They'd even dialed home and their iris code had been accepted. Only, no one had come through and then suddenly the wormhole had collapsed.

They'd had search parties out on several planets, in case the wormhole had been redirected. But there had been no sign of them. In his office, papers waited to be signed, officially making SG-1 missing in action. They'd been waiting for almost a week. He kept putting off signing them. Hoping that, by some miracle, they would still make it. This was SG-1 after all, they had a habit of surviving impossible situations.

"Incoming wormhole." The announcement rang through the base. Down in the gate room the Stargate sprang into action.

Hammond hurried down to the control room.

"Receiving IDC," The technician on duty reported.

"Who is it?"

The technician hesitated for a moment. "It's SG-1!"

Hammond's spirits lifted, they _had_ made it. "Open the iris."

Even as the iris smoothly opened a shimmering appeared in front of the gate and then quickly coalesced into the four members of SG-1.

Rushing into the gate room, Hammond met them as they walked down the ramp. "Report Colonel."

Jack had a sheepish look on his face as he answered. "Ah, well, sir, we got a bit sidetracked."

"Explain."

Jack and Carter gave each other a look, as if trying to find a way to explain. It was however Teal'c that finally found the words. "Our wormhole was redirected to a parallel universe that was in all matters identical to the television series Star Trek The Next Generation."

The matter of fact tone coupled with the absurdity of what Teal'c had just said threw Hammond completely off. "What!"

"Pretty much what Teal'c said." Jack flippantly replied as SG-1 walked for the door.

"Yeah, pretty much." Was echoed by Carter and Jones.

"Colonel?" Hammond couldn't find anything more to say.

"Yes sir, it's good to be home." And with that, SG-1 left the gate room.

**END **


End file.
